Harrigan

by Max Brand

  CHAPTER 7

  "Mutiny on the high seas," the captain was saying, "is as bad as murderon dry land. I could swing you by the neck from the mast for this,Harrigan, and every court would uphold me. Or I can throw you into theirons and leave your trial until we touch port. But--stand back!"

  At the wave of his hand the circle spread. McTee stepped close toHarrigan.

  "I could do all that I've said, but why should I waste you on a prisonwhen there's a chance that I can use for myself? Harrigan, will youstand up to me, man to man, and fist to fist, fighting fair and squarewithout advantage, and then if I thrash you, will you be my man? If Ibeat you, will you swear to follow me, to do my bidding? Harrigan, if Ihave you to work for me--I'll be king of the south seas!"

  "Man to man--fair and square?" repeated Harrigan vaguely. "I'm weak.You've had me in hell an' sweated me thin, McTee. If I was my old self,I'd jump at the chance."

  "Then it's irons for you and ten years for mutiny when we reach port."

  "Ah-h, damn your heart!"

  "But if I beat you, you'll be a lord of men, Harrigan, with only oneking over you--McTee! You'll live on the fat of the land and theplunder of the high seas if you serve McTee."

  "What oath could I swear that you'd believe?"

  "Your hand in mind for a pledge--I ask no more."

  He held out his hand. The lean, strong fingers fascinated Harrigan.

  "I'd rather take your throat than your hand, McTee--an' mebbe Iwill--an' mebbe I will!"

  He caught the hand in his own cracked, stained, black palm. The smileof McTee was like the smile of Satan when he watched Adam driven fromthe Eden.

  "Strip to the waist," he said, and turned on the crew.

  "You know me, lads. I've tried to break Harrigan, but I've only benthim, and now he's going to stand up to me man to man, and if he wins,he's free to do as he likes and never lift a hand till we reach port.Aye, lick your chops, you dogs. There's none of you had the heart totry what Harrigan is going to try."

  If they did not actually lick their chops, there was hunger in theireyes and a strange wistfulness as they watched Harrigan strip off hisshirt, but when they saw the wasted arms, lean, with the musclesdefined and corded as if by famine, their faces went blank again. Forthey glanced in turn at the vast torso of McTee. When he moved hisarms, his smooth shoulders rippled in significant spots--the spotswhere the driving muscles lay. But Harrigan saw nothing save the throatof which he had dreamed.

  "This is to the finish?" said McTee.

  "Aye."

  "And no quarter?"

  Harrigan grinned, and slipped out to the middle of the deck. Both ofthem kicked off their shoes. Even in their bare feet it would bedifficult to keep upright, for the _Mary Rogers_ was rollicking througha choppy sea. Harrigan sensed the crew standing in a loose circle withthe hunger of the wolf pack in winter stamped in their eyes.

  McTee stood with his feet braced strongly, his hands poised. ButHarrigan stole about him with a gliding, unequal step. He did not seempreparing to strike with his hands, which hung low, but rather like onewho would leap at the throat with his teeth. The ship heaved andHarrigan sprang and his fists cracked--one, two. He leaped out againunder the captain's clubbed hands. Two spots of red glowed on McTee'sribs and the wolf pack moistened their lips.

  "Come again, Harrigan, for I've smelled the meat, not tasted it."

  "It tastes red--like this."

  And feinting at McTee's body, he suddenly straightened and smashed bothhands against the captain's mouth. McTee's head jarred back under theimpact. The wolf pack murmured. The captain made a long step, waiteduntil Harrigan had leaped back to the side of the deck to avoid theplunge, and then, as the deck heaved up to give added impetus to hislunge, he rushed. The angle of the deck kept the Irishman from takingadvantage of his agility. He could not escape. One pile-driver handcracked against his forehead--another thudded on his ribs. He leapedthrough a shower of blows and clinched.

  He was crushed against the rail. He was shaken by a quick succession ofshort arm punches. But anything was preferable to another of thoselong, driving blows. He clung until his head cleared. Then he shookhimself loose and dropped, as if dazed, to one knee. McTee's bellow oftriumph filled his ears. The captain bore down on him with outstretchedhands to grapple at his throat, but at the right instant Harrigan roseand lurched out with stiff arm. The punch drove home to the face with ashock that jarred Harrigan to his feet and jerked McTee back as ifdrawn by a hand. Before he recovered his balance, Harrigan planted halfa dozen punches, but though they shook the captain, they did not sendhim down, and Harrigan groaned.

  McTee bellowed again. It was not pain. It was not mere rage. It was abattle cry, and with it he rushed Harrigan. They raged back and forthacross the deck, and the wolf pack drew close, cursing beneath theirbreath. They had looked for a quick end to the struggle, but now theysaw that the fighters were mated. The greater strength was McTee's; thegreater purpose was Harrigan's. McTee fought to crush and conquer;Harrigan fought to kill.

  The blows of the captain flung Harrigan here and there, yet he cameback to meet the attack, slinking with sure, catlike steps. The heeland pitch of the deck sometimes staggered the captain, but Harriganseemed to know beforehand what would happen, and he leaped in at everyopening with blows that cut the skin.

  His own flesh was bruised. He bled from mouth and nose, but what wasany other pain compared with the torture of his clenched fists? It madehis arms numb to the elbow and sent currents of fire through his veins.His eyes kept on the thick throat of McTee. Though he was knockedreeling and half senseless, his stare never changed, and the wolf pack,with their heads jutting forward with eagerness watched, waited. The"Ha!" of McTee rang with the strength of five throats. The "Wah-h!" ofHarrigan purred like a furious panther's snarl.

  Then as the frenzy left Harrigan and the numbness departed from hisarms, he knew that he was growing weaker and weaker. In McTee's eyes hesaw the growing light of victory, the confidence. His own wild hungerfor blood grew apace with his desperation. He flung himself forward ina last effort.

  A ponderous fist cracked home between his eyes, fairly lifting him fromhis feet and hurling him against the base of the wheelhouse. Then aforearm shot under his shoulder and a hand fastened on the back of hisneck in an incomplete half-Nelson. As McTee applied the pressure,Harrigan felt his vertebral column give under the tremendous strain. Hestruggled furiously but could not break the grip. Far away, like thestorm wind in the forest, he heard the moan of the wolf pack.

  "Give in! Give in!" panted McTee.

  "Ah-h!" snarled Harrigan.

  He felt the deck swing and jerked his legs high in the air. He couldnot have broken that grip of his own strength, but the sway of the deckgave his movement a mighty leverage. The hand slipped from his neck,scraping skin away, as if a red-hot iron had been drawn across theflesh. But he was half loosed, and that twist of his body sent themboth rolling one over the other to the scuppers of the ship--and it wasMcTee who crashed against the rail, receiving the blow on the back ofhis head. His eyes went dull; the red hands of Harrigan fastened on histhroat.

  "God!" screamed McTee, and gripped Harrigan's wrists, but the Irishmanheaved him up and beat his head against the deck.

  McTee's jaws fell open, and a bloody froth bubbled to hislips; his eyes thrust out hideously.

  "Ah-h!" snarled Harrigan, and shifted his grip lower, his thumbsdigging relentlessly into the great throat. This time the giant limbsof the captain relaxed as if in sleep. Then through the fierce singingin his ears the Irishman heard a yell. He turned his head. The wolfpack saw their prey pulled down at last. They ran now to join the kill,not men, but raging devils. Harrigan sprang to his feet, catching up amarlinspike, and whirled it above his head.

  "Back!" he shouted.

  They shrank back, growling one to the other savagely, irresolute. Therecame a moan at Harrigan's feet. He leaned over and lifted the bulk ofthe captain's inert body. As if through a haze he saw the chiefengine
er and the two mates running toward him and caught the glitter ofa revolver in the hands of the first officer. The Irishman's batteredlips stretched to a shapeless grin.

  "Help me to the captain's cabin," he said. "He's afther bein' sick."