iends. Blackie and me know that you're a good man, the kind that'll
take a chance, and keep his word. Well, we're the same. There are
only a few of us in this end of the ship that have any backbone to
speak of, and we ought to stick together. There's pay-dirt in this
ship if we only play the game right."

"What do you mean?" I wanted to know.

But Boston concluded he had said almost enough for once. He rapped his
pipe against the hatch-combing to dislodge the dottle, and got to his
feet. I thought he was going to leave me without replying to my query,
but after he had taken a step or two he spoke over his shoulder, softly.

"That's true what I said about the money, Jack. It's there, just
waiting for a few lads of nerve to come and take it."

"If that talk gets aft, the Old Man will have you thumped into a jelly,
just as an example to the other stiffs," I warned him.

He gave the devil's cackle that passed with him for a laugh, and
stepping close to my side, spoke directly into my ear.

"Who is going to take the talk aft? Not you. Blackie and me know that
Jack Shreve ain't a snitch. Not the Big 'Un. You can tell him what I
said if you like. You can tell him something more. Blackie and me
think there is a snitch in this gang, and the Big 'Un had better keep
his eyes peeled for a double-cross. You tell him that. You tell him
to ask Nigger about it."

"What do you mean?" I cried.

His answer was a mysterious shake of the head, and he disappeared into
the foc'sle.

CHAPTER XIII

If Boston meant to give me something to think about, he succeeded. He
left me worried. Not about the treasure or mutiny at which he hinted;
for the time being I put this subject out of my mind. I was concerned
over his unexplained warning. What did it mean? Did some new danger
threaten my friend?

I went in search of Newman, to give him the warning. He was not in his
bunk, so I stepped into the port foc'sle, expecting to find him by
Nils' side. Nils was dying--we had been expecting him to go at almost
any hour for a week past--and Newman had been spending a goodly share
of his watches below by the lad's side.

But he was not there now. The parson, and some of the squareheads of
the port watch, were keeping sick vigil. Nils was very near the time
when he must slip his cable; he lay quiet, eyes closed, hardly
breathing, and his thin, white face seemed already composed into its
death mold. Holy Joe sat holdi