and darted
about until they spotted Newman lounging over there by the rail, with
his hands in his pockets. I guess it was an unpleasant surprise to
find Newman over there, just opposite to where he expected to find him.
The knife was sticking in the rail close by Newman's shoulder; there
could be no connecting it and Newman--indeed, Newman's own knife was in
plain view, in its sheath.

Newman shook his head. "Not this time, Mister," says he.

The mate was stumped, and enraged. His face grew actually purple with
his choked rage, as he glared at Newman. But he did not draw the gun
free of his pocket; he had no excuse to offer Newman violence, and he
did not deign to notice Cockney. He did not even seem to notice the
naked knife. Slowly his hand opened, and the butt of the weapon
dropped back into his pocket. Then he turned, and went aft.

I breathed again. So, I guess, did the others. When Fitzgibbon was
beyond ear-shot, Cockney began to damn Holy Joe for spoiling his aim.
But he didn't get very far with his tirade before Newman had him
shouldered against the wall of the deck-house.

Cockney changed his tune then, and mighty quick. For Newman looked as
he had looked that day in the Knitting Swede's; aye, there was death in
his face.

"Ow, Gaw', 'ear me. Hi didn't mean no trouble!" Cockney bleated. "Hit
was the nyme 'e called me. 'E myde me see red, that's wot."

"Would have been a damn good job if he'd landed!" cried Boston's voice.
There was an emphatic chorus of approval of this sentiment from the
hands, from squareheads and stiffs both. "We'd have been rid of one o'
them, anyhow!" piped up Blackie.

The backing gave Cockney heart. "Hi'd 'ave spliced 'is bleedin' 'eart
but 'e spoiled me throw, the blarsted Bible shark, the----"

"That will do," said Newman quietly, and Cockney shut up.

"Cockney has the guts, anyway," says Boston.

"The bucko hain't; he backed down," says Blackie.

"That will do you," Newman threw over his shoulder, and they shut up.

"If I were sure--" said Newman to Cockney. He left the sentence
unfinished, but he must have looked the rest for Cockney fell into a
terrible funk.

"Ow, s' 'elp me, Hi didn't mean no trouble. Hit was the nyme 'e
called--'e called me old mother hout o' 'er blinkin' nyme, that's wot!
Hi didn't mean for to do it--but me temper--the wy the blighter's used
us blokes--hand the nyme on top o' that----"

"Well, remember, if I thought for a momen