"Where Angels Fear To Tread"
The Brain Of The Battle-Ship
The Wigwag Message
Between The Millstones
The Battle Of The Monsters
From The Royal-Yard Down
Needs Must When The Devil Drives
When Greek Meets Greek
me more o' you."
The men halted, hesitated, and sullenly returned to the forecastle.
"Guess they've had enough," said Mr. Becker, jubilantly.
"Don't fool yourself. They're not used to blood-letting, that's all. If it wasn't for my wife and the kids I'd lower the dinghy and jump her; and it isn't them I'd run from, either. As it is, I've half a mind to haul down the flag, and let the old man settle it. Steward," he called to a mild-faced man who had been flitting from galley to cabin, unmindful of the disturbance, "go forrard and find out how bad those fellows are hurt. Don't say I sent you, though."
The steward obeyed, and returned with the information that two men had broken arms, two flesh-wounds in the legs, and one--the big man--suffered from a ragged hole through the shoulder. All were stretched out in bedless bunks, unwilling to move. He had been asked numerous questions by the others--as to where the ship was bound, who the men were who had shot them, why there was no beddin