Call 'im out; we want to be going."
The speaker and his companion took up a position on the port rail; the
captain and the mulatto lounged to starboard.
"Oh, Davis," called the captain, drawing a revolver. "Give us a hand
here, will you?"
Davis emerged from the engine room, wiping his hands on a wisp of
waste, saw by the eyes of the four men that he was trapped, and looked
steadily at the captain.
"What's the idea, cap?"
"Stick up them hands!"
"What is it, I say?"
"Guess you know. You wanted to get into the swamp with us, did you,
you damn snooper? Well, you're going in there--to stay."
The scarred man thrust forward a noosed rope.
"Put your hands in that, you damn snooper."
"Put 'em in," growled the captain, "or I'll shoot your ears off."
Davis made a pretense of obeying, caught the rope holder about the
middle and rushed him at the captain. So swift and skillful was his
move that ere the lethargic captain could move he found himself pinned
against the rail. With one hand Davis flung his human shield aside
while the other leaped up and caught the captain's gun hand. His
disengaged hand slipped inside his shirt; and then two men leaped like
wolves upon his back.
"He's got a gun on him! Look out!"
The mulatto's thick arm was about Davis' throat, dragging him back, yet
he managed to give the captain's wrist a sharp twist which flung the
revolver high in the air to drop with a splash into the river ere he
fell in a tangle with his assailants to the deck.
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