Captain Black. Pemberton Max

refusing our offers of morning coffee or other hospitality; "my breakfast's waiting on the yacht, and I won't make two bites of it. What I came to say is this, gentlemen. Your expedition has got fine whiskers on it. As fair-dealing men, I don't imagine you are going to dispute the ground with me. This has been a race, and the best, or the luckiest, has won. Well, I'm sorry for your bad luck, but I can't mend it. The treasure is now aboard of my ship, and the day she's coaled I sail for New York. Let's end it there and strike a bargain upon it. I'll pay you ten per cent. into any bank, English or American, you care to name on the day I make New York harbour. That's a fair offer, and few would make it. Let me hear that you are wise, and take it while I'm in the mood."

      He looked from one to the other, as though searching for thoughts in our faces; and as he looked I thought that I began to know the man better. Greed, malice, the dark side of murder, were all stamped on that changing countenance. I knew that he lied—that his tale was a rigmarole of invention and subterfuge which a child might not have believed. Even so, our skipper's rejoinder amazed me.

      "Captain Mitchell," says he, calmly enough, "you haven't found the treasure, or you wouldn't be aboard this ship."

      Well, the fellow stared as though a blow had been struck. He looked at the Captain and looked at ns, while his face was a picture to see.

      "What," he cried, "you begin by calling me a liar!"

      "I do," says the skipper, "though I would not have put it that way myself. You haven't found the treasure, and you don't know where it is. That's why you came to us——"

      "So help me——"

      "No, no—we don't want your oaths, if you please. Keep those for your own company, Captain Mitchell. What's more, I'll tell you this—talk of your ten per cent. when your eggs are hatched. It's a long way from this cove to the American banks you speak of. I don't think we will be undertaking the voyage at present."

      "I said any bank—American or English."

      "Ah," says the skipper, "a cosmopolitan, it would appear," and there was so much irony in his tone that Roderick and I laughed outright. The look Mitchell shot at us upon that should have fired tinder had there been any lying thereabouts. But there wasn't, and we didn't mind it overmuch.

      "Oh," says he, rising as he spoke and ramming on his cap as though to affront us, "I'm not here to barter like a down-town Jew. If you won't have the fair, you shall take the foul. This lay is mine, and the man who disputes it with me must look out for himself. I give you fair warning. Share with me, and I'll show my generosity; but try to queer my pitch, and I'll blow your ship to hell as sure as the sun is rising. That's my last word, so help me God. You may take it or leave it, gentlemen."

      He asked for no answer, but bounced out of the cabin and went straight to the boat that waited for him. We, however, continued to sit about the table, and for many minutes we did not utter a word. When Roderick spoke at last, it was good to hear the sound of a voice.

      "That's a man who knows what he wants," said he. The skipper took it up.

      "We should join him there," he said, with a comical look somewhat foreign to him. "I want one thing very much at this moment, Mr. Stewart."

      "And what's that, Captain?"

      "The permission to take such steps as I please for the safety of this ship—the command ashore as well as afloat for the time being."

      "Oh," said I, "that's fair enough. What do you propose, Captain?"

      "To change the anchorage, if I think fit. Next, to discover what Mitchell himself is doing. There I count upon you, Mr. Strong. But you shouldn't go until sunset, which is a manner of speaking in this pretty country. Let me say that you don't go until it can be done with discretion."

      "I understand. We shall be watched."

      "And must find an opportunity of watching. I'll think it out during the morning. Meanwhile, there's breakfast. That wouldn't be a bad beginning, gentlemen."

      He rose as he spoke, and we followed him very willingly. The whole ship was awake by this time, and little Mary herself—the "trimmest craft afloat," as old Dan remarked—waiting for us at the table. We sat down as though it were a common day, though we knew well enough that the glove had been cast down and that the momentous hour was at hand.