The contemptuous, utterly indifferent manner in which he voiced his
villainous purpose, would have crazed any man. Perhaps he intended
that it should, although it was my belief that he merely expressed
himself naturally, and with no thought of consequences. The man was so
steeped in crime as to be ignorant of all sense of honor, all
conception of true manhood. But to me this utterance was the last
straw, breaking down every restraint, and leaving me hot, and furious
with anger. I forgot the muzzle of the pistol pressed against my side,
and the menacing threat in Kirby's low voice. The face of the man was
indistinct, a mere outline, but the swift impulse to strike at it was
irresistible, and I let him have the blow--a straight-arm jab to the
jaw. My clinched knuckles crunched against the flesh, and he reeled
back, kept from falling only by the support of the deckhouse. There
was no report of a weapon, no outcry, yet, before I could strike again,
I was suddenly gripped from behind by a pair of arms, which closed
about my throat like a vise, throttling me instantly into silent
helplessness. I struggled madly to break free, straining with all the
art of a wrestler, exerting every ounce of strength, but the grasp
which held me was unyielding, robbing me of breath, and defeating every
effort to call for help; Kirby, dazed yet by my sudden blow, and eager
to take a hand in the affray, struck me a cowardly blow in the face,
and swung his undischarged pistol to a level with my eyes.

"Damn you!" he ejaculated, and for the first time his voice really
exhibited temper. "I'd kill you with this, but for the noise. No, by
God! there is a safer way than that to settle with you. Have you got
the skunk, Carver?"

"You can bet I have, Joe. I kin choke the life out o' him--shall I?"