"Don't yelp, for Gawd's sake," implored Mr. Gibney. "We got
ourselves into this, so let's pay the fiddler ourselves. If we
let out one yip and McGuffey hears it, he'll come ashore with his
crew and tackle this outfit, even if he knows he'll get killed.
And that's just what will happen to him if he comes. Let poor Mac
stay aboard. When we don't come back, he'll know it's all off,
and if he has time to think over it he'll realize it would be
foolish to try to do anything. But right now Mac's mad as a wet
hen, and if we holler for help--Scraggsy, please don't holler.
Die game."

Captain Scraggs turned his terrified glance on Mr. Gibney's
tortured face. Scraggs was certainly a coward at heart, but
there was something in Mr. Gibney's unselfishness that touched a
spot in his hard nature--a something he never knew he possessed.
He bowed his head and two big tears stole down his weatherbeaten
face.

"God bless you, Gib, my _dear_ boy," he said brokenly. "You're a
man."

At this juncture the king came up and thoughtfully felt of Captain
Scraggs in the short ribs, while Tabu-Tabu calculated the precise
amount of luscious tissue on Mr. Gibney's well-upholstered frame.

"Bimeby we eat white man," said Tabu-Tabu cheerfully.

"If you eat me, you bloody-handed beggar," snapped Captain
Scraggs, "I'll pizen you. I've chawed tobacco all my life, and my