By this time the little garrison was astir. Hicks, with a sandwich in one hand and his rifle in the other, opened the shutters of one of the lower windows and looked out. Not ten feet away stood a man in a blue cotton shirt, and dirty canvas trousers. The blotchy, grinning face and bowed legs struck him with an unpleasant sense of familiarity. "Hello, mister," said the stranger. "I'd like to 'ave a word wid one of you gents." "Which one?" asked Hicks. "There you 'ave me," replied the man. "Ye see, I was drunk an' it were a dark night. Don't know as I'd know 'im widout puttin' a few questions." He took a couple of steps toward the open window. Hicks put the remaining portion of the sandwich into his mouth, and shifted the rifle. "Ease off that thar gun a p'int or two," cried the sailor. Hicks had been taught, while young, not to talk with his mouth full. So he made no answer. "I ain't looking fer no trouble," said the seaman. "All I want is ter come aboard an' 'ave a quiet jaw wid you and yer mates, afore this blasted old craft 'awls down 'er colours." "What about?" asked Hicks. "That thar dimund, skipper," replied the man, with an evil grin. Hicks changed colour. O'Rourke stuck his head out of the window. He glared at the man in the blue shirt for several seconds. "Belay that talk," he said, "and stop up the slack of it neat and shipshape." The man of the sea rolled his eyes in pained astonishment. "So it was you, Mr. O'Rourke," he sneered. "Now that's a gentleman's trick for you." "Yes, it was I kicked you down the hatch, if that is what you are mentioning," replied O'Rourke, "and I think you know enough of me to obey my orders on the jump. I've eaten enough of your slush-fried grub to kill a whole ship's crew, you thieving sea-cook. I know you for too big a coward to step out on to the foot-rope, but brave enough to jab a marlinspike between a mate's ribs. So clear out of this." The seaman shuffled his feet and grinned. "Not so quick," he retorted; "'and over that dimund an' I'll go, Mister O'Rourke." "Diamond, you longshore gallows-bird, I don't know what you are talking about, but I'll hand over something that'll make you hop, in a minute," cried O'Rourke, in a fury. Hicks threw his Winchester to his shoulder. "Come right in," he said, "or I'll blow the third button of your dirty shirt, counting from the top, right through your chest." The seaman pulled a hideous face, and spat into the dust. "Guess I'll accept your kind invite," he said. "It's real civil of gents like you to treat a poor sailorman like this." But he did not move. O'Rourke eyed him with a new interest, and Hicks squinted along the black barrel. "Don't trouble about that knife. We will lend you one if we keep you to lunch," said O'Rourke.