uinn's laugh rang loudly, for the old man could play the game with any
of them.

"We can't go back. If we suggested that the row would begin at once. No,
we must choose our time instead of letting them choose theirs. And we
can't wait too long, because they would see we were taking precautions
against being surprised. We'll strike to-night--and hard."

No doubt Cap Nat was right in his strategy, but the scruples of the
boy's conscience lost them the advantage of a sudden attack. He would
fight to save his life, but he would not take advantage of his enemies.

Perhaps it would be nearer the truth to say that he could not.
Something stuck in his throat at the thought of falling upon men
unexpectedly and dealing murder broadcast. Nor could the arguments of
the old man shake him.

Dreadfully frightened though he was, the boy stuck doggedly to his
position. He would die before he would do such a thing. And indeed he
counted himself as no better than dead.

The two shared the same cabin, so that they were able to see each other
alone several times during the day. Neither of them went out without
being armed with a brace of pistols and a dirk, though these they kept
hidden under their rough coats.

During Slack's watch that evening Quinn and his friend made their final
preparation for defense. The captain's cabin was larger than theirs, and
offered better points of defense. Furthermore, here were kept the arms
and the ammunition of the ship. Quinn volunteered to get food and water
into it while Wallace held the cabin.

Three trips were made by the old salt to the cook's gallery. The first
time he brought back a keg of water, the second time a large tin into
which he had crammed a varied assortment of food. It was while he was
away on the third journey that a scream rang out in the stillness.

The boy heard a rush of feet, followed by a shot. Bob ran out of the
cabin toward the galley. Up the steps from the lower deck came Quinn,
blood streaming from his head. In one hand he carried a knife, in the
other a copper kettle full of beans still steaming.

"Back, lad, back! Hell's broke loose," the old man cried.

"What happened? Are you badly hurt?"

"I killed cookie. Caught me in the galley and I knifed him," panted the
old man.

A bullet whistled past. Wallace turned, caught sight of Slack's head
above the hatchway, and fired. The head disappeared. A few moments and
they were safe in the cabin.

"You are wounded,"