rd of command, yet it was Henley I looked at, measuring the
distance between us, and watching the revolver in his hand. What did
he mean to do? Kill me, or give me over into the hands of those
merciless devils? All I could read in his eyes was hatred, exultation,
consciousness of power. Suddenly he laughed, a sneering, cynical
laugh, as though he thought me cringing before him in terror. The man
judged me by himself, and believed me helpless.

"Hard luck, Craig--hey!" he began tauntingly. "Played with the wrong
man, did n't you. Now I 've got the girl just as I want her, and as
for you--Lord! but I 'll keep you to play with all the way to Honduras.
It will be a pleasant voyage, my friend. Here, Masters, you and Peters
stand by. Now, you robber, give me those papers."

I handed them out, watching closely. Peters stood at my right, one
hand on my arm; the other fellow must have been behind me. Henley
grasped the envelope, opening the flap to be sure of its contents. The
movement caused him to lower the revolver, and avert his gaze, for just
an instant. With one motion I flung Peters aside, and jammed a
clinched fist into the Captain's face.

CHAPTER XXXVI

IN POSSESSION

Masters must have struck me at almost the same instant my fist landed
on Henley, for we went down together, his revolver discharging, the
flying bullet gouging my shoulder, burning the flesh like a red-hot
wire. Yet I grappled him even as we crashed to the deck, but the
fellow lay stunned, motionless as a dead man. Everything happened
quicker than I can tell it; with such rapidity, indeed, that not a hand
touched me. I could barely struggle up on one knee, dazed still by the
stroke which had floored me, and glance about, when the blue-jackets
came tumbling over the rail, and leaped at the astounded crew of the
_Sea Gull_. It was a swift, short fight, the assailants having every
advantage. I saw the Lieutenant, bare-handed, dash into the group,
striking out left and right, his men at his heels. There was a volley
of oaths, a thud of falling bodies, a sharp command, and the shrill
pipe of a boatswain's whistle. Two men rushed forward, the first
disappearing behind the chart-house. The second encountered Broussard
stepping off the bridge ladder, and hurled the fellow to the deck with
one blow of a sledge-hammer fist. Scarcely pausing to see whether he
was alive or not, the assailant ran on toward the forecastle.

The whole