"Ah-h," whispered the j.a.p and drew in his breath sharply with delight.

"I might start the boys--I might turn them loose on the ship," went on Hovey, "but the time ain't come yet for that. We're too far from the coast. Whatever happens, Kamasura, can you promise me to keep your face shut about the mutiny?"

"Yes-s."

"Even if they was to tie you up an' feed you the lash? Henshaw's equal to that."

Kamasura stammered, hesitated.

"Don't make no mistake," said Hovey fiercely, "because we'll be standin' close, some of us, an' the first tune you open your d.a.m.ned mouth, we'll bash your head in. Get me?"

The entrance of Eric Borgson made it impossible for the j.a.p to answer with words, but his eyes were eloquent with promise. Hovey started back for the forecastle; he had much to say to the sailors, and thereafter life on the Heron would be equally dangerous for both Harrigan and McTee.

The two, in the meantime, were making their way aft shoulder to shoulder. When they reached the stretch of deck behind the wireless house, McTee said: "Harrigan, what's it to be? Are you for fighting it out?"

"I'm with you in anything you say," retorted the dauntless Irishman, and then with a changed voice, "but I'm feelin' sort of sick inside, Angus. Did ye see that murtherin' dog smash the mouth of that j.a.p when he hadn't the strength to lift his head? Ah-h!"

"I'm sick, too," said McTee, "but not because of the j.a.p. It's something worse that bothers me."

"What?"

"It's the thought of White Henshaw, Dan. The brain of that old devil is going back on him. I think he loves death more than life. His memories of what he's done put him in h.e.l.l every minute he lives."

"Go easy, McTee," said Harrigan. "D'you mean to say that Henshaw blew up those boats--an' his ship still in the middle of the Pacific?"

"I say nothing. All I know is that he talked d.a.m.ned queerly of how wonderful it would be if a ship in the middle of the sea put her nose under the waves and started for Davy Jones's locker. Yes, if she went down with all hands--dived for the bottom, in fact."

"What can we do?"

"I don't know, but I'm beginning to think that this ship--and our lives--would be safer in the hands of Hovey and his gang of cutthroats than they will be under White Henshaw. Queer things are going to happen on the _Heron_, Harrigan, mark my word."

"You think Henshaw blew up the boats so not one of the crew could escape?"

"It sounds too crazy to repeat."

"McTee!"

"Yes, I'm thinking of her, too."

"Between the mutiny and the crazy captain, Angus, it'll take both of us to pull her through."

"It will."

"Then gimme your hand once more, cap'n. We're in the trough of the sea once more, an' G.o.d knows when we'll reach dry land, but while we're on the _Heron_, we're brothers once more. For her sake I'll forget I hate you till we've got the honest ground under our feet once more."

"When the time comes," said McTee, "it'll be a wonderful fight."

"It will," agreed Harrigan fervently. "But first, McTee, we must let her know that we're standin' shoulder to shoulder to fight for her.

Otherwise she won't give us her trust."

"You're right again. We'll go to her cabin now and tell her. But don't give her a hint of all that we fear. She already knows about the mutiny--and she knows about your part in it."

"You saw to that, McTee?" said Harrigan softly, as he pulled on his shirt.

"I did."

"Ah-h, Angus, that fight'll be even better than I was afther thinkin'."

And they went forward, walking again shoulder to shoulder. It was Harrigan who stood in front at her door and knocked. She opened it wide, but at sight of him started to slam it again. He blocked it with his foot.

"I've not come for my own sake," he said in a hard voice, "but the two of us have come together."

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and she made out the towering form of McTee. At that she opened the door, glancing curiously from one to the other. The eyes of Harrigan went from her face to McTee, and his eyes flamed.

"Speak up, McTee," he said savagely. "Tell her you lied about me."

The Scotchman glowered upon him.

"I'll tell her what I've just found out," he answered coldly, and turned to Kate. "We were mistaken in what we thought when we overheard Hovey talking with Harrigan. Dan was simply playing a part with them-- he was trying to learn their plans so as to use them against the mutineers when the time came."

There was a joyousness in her voice that cut McTee like a knife as she cried: "I knew! I knew! My instinct fought for you, Dan. I couldn't believe what I heard!"

"What you both heard?" he said bitterly. "I remember now. It was when I talked with Hovey in front of this cabin?"

"Ask no more questions," said McTee. "I'm seeing red now."

"Black! You see nothin' but black, ye swine! The soot in your soul is a stain in your eyes, McTee."

They turned toward the door, but she sprang before it and set her shoulders against the boards.

"Sit down--you too, Dan."

They obeyed slowly, McTee taking the edge of the bunk and Harrigan lowering his bulk to the little campstool, which groaned beneath his weight. She sat on a chair between them, while she looked from face to face.

"When you came in you were friends," she said, "and the only thing that could bring you to friendship was danger. There is danger. What?"

They exchanged glances of wonder at this shrewd interpretation.

"There is danger," said McTee at length, "and it's a danger which is something more than the mutiny, perhaps."

"I will tell it," said Harrigan.

He drew his chair closer to Kate and leaned over so that his face was near hers. She knew at once that he had forgotten all about the presence of McTee.

"Kate, I will not lie to ye, colleen"--here McTee set his teeth, but Harrigan went on--"I hate McTee, and it's for your sake that I hate him. And it's for your sake that I'm goin' to forget it for a while.

There's throuble abroad--there's a cloud over this ship an' a curse on it--"

"What he means to say," broke in McTee, and then he became aware that she had not heard him speak, and he saw her smiling as she drank in the musical brogue of the Irishman.