"But if I beat you, you'll be a lord of men, Harrigan, with only one king over you--McTee! You'll live on the fat of the land and the plunder 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 I will--an' mebbe I will!" He caught the hand in his own cracked, stained, black palm. The smile of McTee was like the smile of Satan when he watched Adam driven from the 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 bent him, 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 to try what Harrigan is going to try." If they did not actually lick their chops, there was hunger in their eyes and a strange wistfulness as they watched Harrigan strip off his shirt, but when they saw the wasted arms, lean, with the muscles defined and corded as if by famine, their faces went blank again. For they glanced in turn at the vast torso of McTee. When he moved his arms, his smooth shoulders rippled in significant spots--the spots where the driving muscles lay. But Harrigan saw nothing save the throat of 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 of them kicked off their shoes. Even in their bare feet it would be difficult to keep upright, for the _Mary Rogers_ was rollicking through a choppy sea. Harrigan sensed the crew standing in a loose circle with the hunger of the wolf pack in winter stamped in their eyes. McTee stood with his feet braced strongly, his hands poised. But Harrigan stole about him with a gliding, unequal step. He did not seem preparing to strike with his hands, which hung low, but rather like one who would leap at the throat with his teeth. The ship heaved and Harrigan sprang and his fists cracked--one, two. He leaped out again under the captain's clubbed hands. Two spots of red glowed on McTee's ribs and the wolf pack moistened their lips. "Come again, Harrigan, for I've smelled the meat, not tasted it." "It tastes red--like this."