o it."

"What's the use," said Benson, "if you haven't got a clear case against
him? Now, I have. He shot Mahar on sight, in the presence of a dozen
witnesses."

"You mean," said Rogers, "that I was quickest. He pulled first; but I
beat him to it, that's all."

"Well," said the big proprietor, "we'll have to think on this a little.
So, let's do a little thinking."

They responded to the extent of doing no more talking. Yet it could
hardly be said that they were thinking. A fog closed down on their
faculties, the room and its fittings grew misty, and in a few moments
Benson's head sagged to the table, Quincy lay back in his chair, and
Rogers slid to the floor.

"Casey," called the big man, and Casey appeared. "You needn't go to
South Brooklyn for the three men we need for the crew to-morrow
mornin'. Here's three. One's a sure sailorman, anxious to ship, and the
other two'll do. Get Tom to help you upstairs with 'em and get 'em
ready. You know the trick. Change their clothes, give 'em a bagful
each, and dip their hands in that tar bucket, then wipe most of it off
with grease. Get some from the kitchen."

And so were shanghaied a Deputy Sheriff of Arizona, a member of the
Northwest Mounted Police, and a desperate outlaw and fugitive from
justice.

They wakened about ten next morning with throbbing headaches, and clad
in greasy canvas rags, each stretched out in a forecastle bunk with a
bag of other greasy rags for a pillow. Rogers was the first to roll
out, and after a blear-eyed inspection of the forecastle, which
included the other two, he ejaculated, "Well, I'll be blanked!" Then he
shook each into sitting posture, listened to their groaning protests,
and sat down on a chest, shaking with silent laughter, while the other
two resumed the horizontal.

But he did not laugh long. Certain sounds from on deck indicated that
he would soon be wanted, and certain indications of wintry weather in
the shape of snow flurrying into the forecastle reminded him of his
raiment. He hauled out the clothes bag from his bunk and opened it. To
his surprise he found, neatly folded, his suit of store clothes; but as
this would not do for shipboard wear he sought farther, and found a
warm monkey jacket and guernsey, the property, no doubt, of some sailor
who had died in the boarding-house or run away from his board bill. He
also found a note addressed to Bill Rogers, which he read, and again
ejaculated, "I'll be blanked!" adding to