Part 32 (1/2)

”Leave th' ol' grouch alone, Jim. Th' mate won't stand for no sc.r.a.ppin' aboard. We'll have th' thing done right in th' custom sheds.

We'll have a finish fight, Queensberry rules, an' may th' best man win.”

”I'm willin',” said Jim.

”So'm I,” agreed Steve. But his intentions were not honorable. He proposed to desert before any fight took place. Not that he was physically afraid; no; he wanted to dig his hands deep into those doubloons and pieces-of-eight.

So the four days down pa.s.sed otherwise uneventfully, amid paint pots and iron rust and three meals a day of pork, onion soup, potatoes, and strong, bitter coffee. The winds became light and balmy and the sea blue and gentle. The men went about in their unders.h.i.+rts and dungarees, barefooted. Of course the coming fight was the main topic of conversation. It promised to be a rattling good sc.r.a.p, for both men were evenly matched, and both had a ”kick” in either hand. Even the captain took a mild interest in the affair. He was an old sailor. He knew that there was no such word as arbitration in a sailor's vocabulary; his disputes could be settled only in one manner, by his calloused fists.

When the old mudhook (and some day Steve was going to buy it and hang it over the entrance to the Gilson House) slithered down into the smiling waters of the bay, Steve concluded that discretion was the better part of valor. He would steal ash.o.r.e on the quarantine tug which lay alongside. He was willing to fight under ordinary circ.u.mstances, but he must get his treasure in safety first. They could call him a welcher if they wanted to; devil a bit did he care.

So he pried back the boards of his bunk wall, took out the box, eyed it fondly, and noted for the first time the lettering on it:

STANLEY HARGREAVE.

He wrinkled his brow in the effort to recall a pirate by this name, but was unsuccessful. No matter. He hugged the box under his coat and made for the gangway, and inadvertently ran into his enemy.

Dunkers caught a bit of the box peeping from under the coat.

”What 'a' yuh got there?” he demanded truculently.

”None o' your dam business! You lemme by; hear me?”

”Ain't none o' my business, huh? Where'd yuh git a box like that?

Steal it? By cripes, I'm goin' t' have a look at that box, my hearty.

It don't smell like honest onions.”

”You lemme by!” breathed Steve, with murder in his heart.

Suddenly the two men closed, surged back and forth, one determined to take and the other to hold this mysterious box. Dunkers struggled to uphold his word: not that he really wanted the box but to prove that he was strong enough to take it if he wanted to. The name on the box flashed and disappeared. It was a kind of shock to him. He and Blossom went battering against the rail. Dunker's grip slipped and so did Blossom's. The result was that the box was catapulted into the sea. With an agonizing cry, Blossom leaned far over. He saw the box oscillate for a moment, then sink gracefully in a zigzag course, down through the blue waters. Fainter and fainter it grew, and at last vanished.

”I'm sorry, Steve; but yuh wouldn't let me look at it,” said Dunkers, contritely.

”d.a.m.n you; I'm goin' t' kill y' for that!”

It became a real fight this time, fist and foot, tooth and nail; one mad with the l.u.s.t to kill and the other desperately intent on living.

It was one of those contests in which honor and fair play have no part.

But for the timely arrival of the captain and some of the crew Dunkers would have been badly injured, perhaps fatally. They hauled back Blossom, roaring out his oaths at the top of his lungs. It took half an hour's arguing to calm him down. Then the captain demanded to know what it was all about. And blubbering, Steve told him.

”Six hundred feet of water, if I've got my reckoning right. The anchor lies in sixty feet, but the starboard side drops sheer six hundred.

You swab! Why didn't you bring the box to me? A man has a right to what he finds. I'd have taken care of it for you till we got back to port. I know; you were greedy; you thought I might want to stick my fist into your treasure. And you'll never find it in six hundred feet of water and tangled, porous coral. That's what, you get for being a blamed hog. As for you,” and the captain turned to Dunkers, ”get your dunnage and your pay and hunt for another boat back. I won't have no murder on board _Captain Manners_. And the sooner you go, the better.”

”I'll go, sir,” said Dunkers, readily enough. Had the misfortune happened to him and had Blossom been the aggressor, he would want his life. He understood. Like the valet in _Olivette_, it was the time for disappearing.

”An' keep out o' my way. I'll git y' yet,” growled Blossom.

”Keep your mouth shut,” said the mate, ”or I'll have you put in irons, you pig!”

”All right, sir. I've said all I'm goin't' say t'day;” and Blossom strode off.