"Say! Let me go too," urged the cattleman, his eyes glistening.
"No. We can't go in force. I'm not even going to take a weapon. That would queer the whole thing. It's purely a moral and not a physical argument I'm making."
He did not want to see it that way, but in the end he grumblingly assented, especially when I put it to him that he must stay and keep an eye on Bothwell.
While Blythe was down in his cabin getting a shave I watched my chance and slipped down to the main deck. Cautiously I ventured into the forecastle, tiptoeing down the ladder without noise.
"Dead as a door nail. That makes seven gone to Davy Jones's locker," I heard a despondent voice say.
"'E could sing a good song, Mack could, and 'e carried 'is liquor like a man, but that didn't 'elp 'im from being shot down like a dog. It'll be that wye with us next."
"Stow that drivel, cookie," growled a voice which I recognized as belonging to the older Fleming. "You're nice, cheerful company for devils down on their luck. Ain't things bad enough without you croaking like a sky pilot?"
"That's wot I say, says I; we'll all croak before this blyme row is over," Higgins prophesied.
I sauntered forward with my hands in my pockets.
"Looks that way, doesn't it? Truth is, you've made a mess of it from first to last. Whichever way you look at it the future is devilishly unpleasant. Even if you live to be hanged—which isn't at all likely—one can't call it a cheerful end."
Conceive, if you can, a more surprised lot of ruffians than these. They leaped to their feet and stared at me in astonishment. I'll swear four revolvers jumped to sight while one could bat an eyelid.
I leaned on the edge of the table and gave them the most care-free grin I could summon. All the time I was wondering whether some fool would perhaps blaze away at me and do his thinking afterward.
"How did you get down here?" the senior engineer demanded.
"Walked down. I'm really surprised at you, Fleming. What would Bothwell think of you? Why, I might have shot half of you before Higgins could say Jack Robinson."
It showed how ripe they were for my purpose that at the mention of Bothwell's name two or three growled curses at him.
"He got us into this, he did; promised us a fortune if we'd join him," Gallagher said sulkily.
"And no blood shed, Mr. Sedgwick. That's wot 'e promised," whined the cook.
"Probably he meant none of ours," I explained ironically.
"He was going to wait till you'd got the treasure and then put you in a boat near the coast," Gallagher added.
Neidlinger spat sulkily at a knot in the floor. His eyes would not meet mine. It was a fair guess that he was no hardened mutineer, but had been caught in a net through lack of moral backbone.
"Afraid Bothwell isn't a very safe man to follow. He's let you be mauled up pretty badly. I've a notion he'll slip away and leave you to be hanged without the comfort of his presence."
"You don't need to rub that in, Mr. Sedgwick," advised George Fleming. "And perhaps, since you're here, you will explain your business."
It must be said for George Fleming that at least he was a hardy villain and no weakling. The men were like weather-vanes. They veered with each wind that blew.
"That's right," chimed in Gallagher. "We didn't ask your company. If we go to hell I shouldn't wonder but you'll travel the road first, sir. Take a hitch and a half turn on this. We're in the same boat, you and us. Now you take an oar and pull us out of the rough water, Mr. Sedgwick."
I laughed.
"Not I, Gallagher. You made your own bed, and I'm hanged if I'll lie in it, though I believe it is bad taste to refer to hanging in this company. I didn't start a little mutiny. I didn't murder as good a mate as any seaman could ask for. It isn't my fault that a round half dozen of you are dead and gone to feed the fishes."
Higgins groaned lugubriously. Neidlinger shifted his feet uneasily. Not one of them but was impressed.
Harry Fleming glanced at his brother, cleared his throat, and spoke up.
"Mr. Sedgwick, spit it out. What have you to offer? Will Captain Blythe let this be a bygone if we return to duty? That's what we want to know. If not, we've got to fight it out. A blind man could see that."
I told them the truth, that I had no authority to speak for Blythe. He would probably think it his duty to give them up to the authorities if they were still on board when we reached Panama.
It was pitiful to see how they clutched at every straw of hope.
"Well, sir, what do you mean by that if? Will he stand back and let us escape?"
"All of you but Bothwell. Mind, I don't promise this. Why not send a deputation to the captain and ask for terms?"
Higgins slapped his fat thigh.
"By crikey, 'e's said it. A delegation to the captain. That's the bloomin' ticket."
Pat to his suggestion came an unexpected and startling answer.
"Fortunately it won't be necessary to send the delegation, since your captain has come down to join you."
The voice was Bothwell's; so, too, were the ironic insolence, the sardonic smile, the air of contemptuous mastery that sat so lightly on him. He might be the greatest scoundrel unhanged—and that was a point upon which I had a decided opinion—but I shall never deny that there was in him the magnetic force which made him a leader of men.
Immediately I recognized defeat for my attempt to end the mutiny at a stroke. His very presence was an inspiration to persistence in evil. For though he had brought them nothing but disaster, the fellow had a way of impressing himself without appearing to care whether he did or not.
The careless contempt of his glance emphasized the difference between him and them. He was their master, though a fortnight before none of them had ever seen Bothwell. They feared and accepted his leadership, even while they distrusted him.
The men seemed visibly to stiffen. Instead of beseeching looks I got threatening ones. Three minutes before I had been dictator; now I was a prisoner, and if I could read signs one in a very serious situation.
"I'm waiting for the deputation," suggested Bothwell, his dark eye passing from one to another and resting on Higgins.
The unfortunate cook began to perspire.
"Just our wye of 'aving a little joke, captain," he protested in a whine.
"You didn't hear aright, Bothwell. A deputation to the captain was mentioned," I told him.
"And I'm captain of this end of the ship, or was at last accounts. Perhaps Mr. Sedgwick has been elected in my absence," he sneered.
"You bet he ain't," growled Gallagher.
"It's a position I should feel obliged to decline. No sinking ship for me, thank you. I've no notion of trying to be a twentieth century Captain Kidd. And, by the way, he was hanged, too, wasn't he, captain?"
"That's a prophecy, I take it. I'll guarantee one thing: You'll not live to see it fulfilled. You've come to the end of the passage, my friend."
"Indeed!"
"But before you pass out I've a word to say to you about that map."
His eye gave a signal. Before I could stir for resistance even if I had been so minded, George Fleming and Gallagher pinned my back to the table. Bothwell stepped forward and looked down at me.
A second time I glimpsed the Slav behind his veneer of civilization. Opaque and cruel eyes peered into mine through lids contracted