ov 'em put tergether. I tell yer them fellers stole that money, an'
they killed Beaucaire--"

"Hold on a minute," I broke in, my mind cleared of its first passion,
and realizing the necessity of control. "Let's keep cool, and go slow.
While I believe McAfee is right, we are not going to bring the Judge
back to life by turning into a mob. There is no proof of cheating, and
Kirby has the law behind him. Let me talk to the captain about what
had best be done."

"Who, Thockmorton?"

"Yes; he'll know the better action for us to take. He's level-headed,
and an old friend of Beaucaire's."

"I'm fer swingin' that damn gambler up, without askin' nobody," shouted
a fellow fiercely. "He's bin raisin' hell frum one end o' this river
ter the other fer ten years. A rope is whut he needs."

"What good would that do in this case?" I questioned before anyone else
could chime in, "either to the dead man, or his family? That's what I
am thinking about, men. Suppose you strung him up, that money, the
plantation, and those slaves would still belong to him, or his heirs.
I'm for getting all these back, if there is any way of accomplishing
it. See here, men," I pleaded earnestly, "this affair doesn't
necessarily end here on board the _Warrior_, and if you were to kill
Kirby it wouldn't benefit matters any."

"It would get rid ov a skunk."

"Yes, but he is only one of a hundred between here and New Orleans.
Look at the other side a minute. Beaucaire bet everything he
possessed--everything, land, niggers, and money. Kirby sneered him on
to it, and saw that he had the kind of a hand that would do the
business right. When the Judge died he didn't own enough to pay his
funeral expenses. Now see here; I happen to know that he left two
young daughters. Just stop, and think of them. We saw this game
played, and there isn't a man here who believes it was played on the
square--that two such hands were ever dealt, or drawn, in poker. We
can't prove that Kirby manipulated things to that end; not one of us
saw how he worked the trick. There is no chance to get him that way.
Then what is it we ought to do? Why I say, make the thief
disgorge--and hanging won't do the business."

"Well then, what will?"

"I confess I do not yet know. I want to talk with Thockmorton first.
He may know something."

There was a moment's silence, then a suspicious voice, "Who the hell
are you? How do we know you ain't in on this yerself?"

"Li