But now Joel saw that he had stepped back a little, perhaps by accident. He was behind the man at the wheel, behind the spot where Aaron Burnham stood. He was standing almost against the after rail, in the narrow corridor that runs fore and aft through the after house.... The pistols were in his belt, and the two rifles leaned on the rail at his side. Mark himself was standing at ease, his arms relaxed, his hands resting lightly on his hips and his feet apart. He swayed to the movement of the ship, balancing with the unconscious ease of long custom. Joel went toward him, not slowly, yet without haste. He passed old Aaron with no word, passed the wheelman, and faced his brother. They were scarce two feet apart when he stopped; and there were no others near enough to hear, above the slashing of the seas and the whistle of the wind, his low words. He said: "Mark, you've made a mistake. A bad mistake. In--starting this mutiny." Mark smiled slowly. "That's a hard word, Joel. It's in my mind that if this is mutiny, it's a very peaceful model." "Nevertheless, it is just that," said Joel. "It is that, and it is also a mistake. And--you are wise man enough to see this. There is still time to remedy the thing. It can be forgotten." Mark chuckled. "If that is true, you've a most convenient memory, Joel." Joel's cheeks flushed slowly, and he answered: "I am anxious to forget--whatever shames the House of Shore." Mark threw back his head and laughed aloud. "Bless you, boy," he exclaimed. "'Tis no shame to you to have fallen victim to our numbers." But there was a heat in his tones that told Joel he was shaken. And Joel insisted steadily: "It was not my own shame I feared." "Mine, then?" Mark challenged. "Aye," said Joel. "Yours." Mark bent toward him with a mocking flare of anger in his eyes; and he said harshly: "You've spoken too much for a small man. Be silent. And go below." Joel waited for an instant; then his shoulders stirred as though he chose a hard course, and he held out his hand and said quietly: "Give me the guns, Mark." Mark stared at him; and he laughed aloud. "You're immense, boy," he applauded. "The cool nerve of you...." His eyes warmed with frank admiration. "Joel, hark to this," he cried, and jerked his head toward the captive Finch. "You've ripped the innards out of that mate of mine. I'll give you the job. You're mate of the _Nathan Ross_ and I'm proud to have you...." "I am captain of the _Nathan Ross_," said Joel. "And you are my brother, and a--mutineer. Give me the guns." Mark threw up his hand angrily. "You'll not hear reason. Then--go below, and stay there. You...."