by Max Brand
CHAPTER 17
Long before this, Harrigan had reported to the bos'n, burly JerryHovey, and had been assigned to a bunk into which he fairly dived andfell asleep in the posture in which he landed. In the morning hetumbled out with the other men and became the object of a crossfire ofquestions from the curious sailors who wanted to know all the detailsof the wreck of the _Mary Rogers_ and the life on the island. He wassaved from answering nine-tenths of the chatter by a signal from thebos'n, who beckoned Harrigan to a stool a little apart from the rest ofthe crew. Jerry Hovey was a cheery fellow of considerable bulk, with anhabitual smile. That smile went out, however, when he talked withHarrigan, and the Irishman became conscious of a pair of steady, alertgray eyes.
"Look here," said Hovey, and he talked out of the corner of his mouthwith a skill which would have become an old convict of many terms,"I've had it put to me straight that you're a hard one. Is that theright dope?"
Harrigan smiled.
"Because if it is," said Hovey, "we're the best gang at bustin' upthese hard guys that ever walked the deck of a ship. If you try anyside steps and fancy ducking of your work, there'll be a disciplinin'comin' your way at a gallop. Are you wise?"
Harrigan still smiled, but the coldness of his eye made the bos'nthoughtful. He was not one, however, to be easily cowed. Now he balledhis fist and smote it against the palm of his other hand with a slapthat resounded.
"On my own hook," he stated, "I can sling my mitts with the best ofthem, an' I'm always lookin' for work in that line. Now I'm sayin' allthis in private, sonny, to let you know that Black McTee has wised upthe skipper about you, and I'm keepin' a weather eye open. If you makeone funny move, I'll be on your back."
"All right, Jerry."
"Don't call me Jerry, you swab! I'm the bos'n."
"Look me in the eye, Jerry Hovey, me dear. If you so much as bat thelashes av wan eye in lookin' at me, I'll bust ye in two pieces like asea biscuit, Jerry, an' I'll eat the biggest half an' throw the restinto the sea. Ar-r-re ye wise?"
Now, Jerry Hovey was a very big man, and he had thrashed men of largerbulk than Harrigan. But there was something about the Irishman'sthickness of shoulder and length of arm that gave him pause. So firstof all Jerry grew very thoughtful indeed, and then his habitual smilereturned. Nevertheless, Harrigan did not forget those gray, alert eyes.
The bos'n went on in a gentler voice: "I was tryin' you out, Harrigan.I'll lay to it that the cap'n has the wrong idea about you. But willyou tell me why he's ridin' you?"
"Sure. It's Black McTee. Before the _Mary Rogers_ went down, McTee wastryin' to break me. I guess he's asked this White Henshaw to try ahand. What have they got lined up for me?"
"You're to scrub down the bridge an' while your hands are still softyou go down to the fireroom an' pass coal. It'll tear your hands off,that work."
Harrigan was gray, but he answered. "That's an old story. McTee workedme like that all the time."
"An' you didn't break?" gasped Hovey.
Harrigan grinned, but his smile stopped when he noticed a certaincalculation in the face of the bos'n.
"Mate," said Hovey, "I guess you're about ripe for something I'm goin'to say to you one of these days. Now go up to the bridge an' scrub itdown."
With the prospect of the long torture before him once more, Harrigan ina daze picked up the bucket of suds to which he was pointed and wentwith his brush toward the bridge. Through the mist which enveloped hisbrain broke wild thoughts--to steal upon McTee at the first meeting andhurl his hated body overboard. Yet even in his bewildered condition herealized what such an act would mean. Murder on land is bad enough, butmurder at sea is doubly damned by the law. It was in the power of WhiteHenshaw to hang him up to the mast.
Revolving these dismal prospects with downward head, he climbed fromthe waist of the ship to the cabin promenade, and there a voice hailedhim, and he turned to see Kate Malone approaching. She was all inwhite--cap, canvas shoes, silk shirt absurdly lose at the throat, andlinen coat with the sleeves turned far back so that her hands would notbe enveloped. The duck trousers were also taken up several reefs.
"Good morning," she said, and held out her hand.
He watched her smile wistfully, and then made a little gesture with hisown hands, one burdened with the scrubbing brush and the other with thebucket.
"What does it mean?"
"Hell," said Harrigan.
"Explain."
"It's McTee again, damn his eyes!"
"Do you mean to say they've started to treat you as they did on the_Mary Rogers_? The scrubbing and then the work in the fireroom?"
"Right."
She stamped her foot in impotent fury.
"What manner of man is he, Dan? He's not all brute; why does he treatyou like this?"
The Irishman smiled.
She cried with increasing anger: "What can I do?"
"Make your skin yellow an' your hair gray an' walk with no spring inyour step. He wants to break me now because of you."
There was moist pity in her eyes, yet they gleamed with excitement atthe thought of this battle of the Titans for her sake.
"I will go to him," she said after a moment, "and tell him that youmean nothing to me. Then he will stop."
The cold, incurious eyes studied her without passion, and once more hesmiled.
"He'll not stop. Whether you like me or not, Kate, doesn't count. Oneof us'll go down, an' you'll be for the one that's left. He knows it--Iknow it."
"Harrigan!" called the voice of McTee from the bridge, and the tallScotchman lifted his cap to Kate.
"I'm the slave," said Harrigan, "and there's the whip. Good-by."
She stamped her foot with an almost childish fury, saying: "Someday heshall regret this brutal tyranny. Good-by, Dan, and good luck!"
She took his hand in both of hers, but her eyes held spitefully uponthe bridge, as if she hoped that McTee would witness the handshake; thecaptain, however, had turned his back upon them.
Dan muttered to himself as he climbed the bridge: "Did she do that toanger McTee or to please me?" And the thought so occupied his mind thathe paid no attention to the Scotchman when he reached the bridge. Hemerely dropped to his knees and commenced scrubbing. McTee, in themeanwhile, loitered about the bridge as if on his own ship. In due timeHarrigan drew near, the suds swishing under his brush. The Irishman,remembering suddenly, commenced to hum a tune.
"The old grind, eh, Harrigan?" said McTee.
The Irishman, humming idly still, looked up, calmly surveyed thecaptain, and then went on as if he had heard merely empty wind insteadof words.
"After the scrubbing brush the shovel," went on McTee, but stillHarrigan paid no attention. He rose when his task was completed andmade his eyes gentle as if with pity while he gazed upon McTee.
"I'm sorry for you, McTee; you've made a hard fight; it's strangeyou've got no ghost of a chance of winnin'."
"What d'you mean?"
"Couldn't you hear her when she talked to me?"
"I could not."
"Couldn't you see her face? It was written there as plain as print."
McTee cleared his throat.
"What was written there?"
"The thing you want to see. When she took my hand in both of hers--"
"Hell!"
"Ah-h, man, it was wonderful! The scrubbing brush an' the shovel--theymean nothin' to me now."
"Harrigan, you're lying."
The latter dropped his scrubbing brush into the bucket of suds andstood with arms akimbo studying the captain.
"For a smart man, McTee, you've been a fool. I could of gone down on meknees an' begged to do what you've done. Don't you see? You've thrownher with her will or against it into me arms. I'm poor Harrigan, braveand downtrodden; you're Black McTee once more, the tyrant. She lookssick at the mention of your name."
"I never dreamed you'd go whining to her. I thought you were a man;you're only a spineless dog, Harrigan!"
"Am I that? She pities me, M
cTee, an' from pity it's only one step tosomething bigger. Can you trust me to lead her that one step? You can!"
"If I went to her and told her how you boasted of having won her?"
"She wouldn't believe what you said about me if you swore it with bothhands on the Bible. Be wise, McTee. Give up the game. You've lost her,me boy! For every day that I work in the fireroom I'll come to her an'show her the palms of me bleedin' hands an' mention your name. An' forevery day I work in the hole the hate of you will burn blacker into herheart."
"I'd rather have her hate than her pity."
"You'll have both; her hate for torturin' Harrigan; her pity forlettin' the devil in you get the best of the man. You're done for,McTee."
Each one of the short phrases was like a whip flicked across the faceof McTee, but he would not wince.
"You've said enough. Now get down to the fireroom. I've had Henshawprepare the chief engineer for your coming."
Harrigan turned.
"Wait! Remember when you're in hell that the old compact still holds.Your hand in mine and a promise to be my man will end the war."
Only the low laughter of the Irishman answered as he made his way downto the deck.