Mr. Adams promptly stepped forward, to the Fremont man's side. "What's this about?" he demanded. "Oh, it's you again, is it--you and your kid!" snarled the long-nosed man. "You're chalking up another score to settle, are you?" And, to his fellows: "What do you say, boys? Shall we throw them overboard?" "Over they go," announced one of the other men--a thin sallow, drooping-moustached kind--with marvelous swiftness whipping from under his coat breast a fifteen-inch blade bowie-knife. [Illustration: "Over they go!"] Charley's heart leaped into his throat with horror. He wanted to spring to his father's side, but his legs would not work. However, the affair was settled very easily. The Fremont man quickly handed his rifle to Mr. Adams, grabbed the long-nosed Jacobs, in bear-like grip, and fairly threw him into the man with the knife. Together the pair went down in a heap, almost knocking over several of the onlookers. "You next," declared the Fremonter, with a jump at the third of the gang--who hastily recoiled, in alarm. So did the onlookers. So did the two men who were scrambling to their feet again. The Fremont man had proved as quick and as strong as a gorilla. Now he laughed grimly. "Come on," he invited. "Come on with your knives or anything else that you have. But we won't go overboard just yet. We can't swim!" The three fellows didn't "come on," worth a cent. The one with the knife hung back farthest of all. They sputtered and glared, a little uncertain just what to do with a man so energetic and fearless as the Fremont man. "All right, boys," snarled the long-nosed man. "There's more than one way to deal with 'em. We don't want trouble. We're peaceable citizens. But if that boat doesn't belong to us, it doesn't belong to anybody." And he threatened, to the Fremont man and Charley's father: "In about five minutes we'll settle _your_ hash." With that he turned, and he and his two companions shouldered their way brusquely through the crowd. The Fremont man laughed again. "Fists are the only weapons needed with gentry of that class," he said, contemptuously. "Bah! I think more of Digger Injuns." Some of the onlookers nodded and murmured assent. The half circle that had been attracted by the dispute broke up. Nobody had tried to interfere, even when the knife had been drawn. Charley soon found that similar contests for sleeping places were occurring everywhere aboard. It was a grand free-for-all rush. Mr. Adams gave Charley an assuring nod, as if to say: "Here's a man who knows what to do and how to do it"; and he remarked, quietly, to their friend: "Thanks to you, I guess we're rid of that trouble." "And easily rid, too," answered the Fremont man; he composedly reached for his rifle, leaned it against the rail, and standing on the bench running inside the rail began to rearrange the baggage on the canvas covering of the boat.