As Ben held him there was a gurgle in his throat, and a stream of bright lung blood poured from his mouth. "You've been an' gone an' done it this time," said the ex-miner to Pedro. "Me keela lo gringo brute. _Carrajo, esta bueno!_" remarked the South American coolly, with a self-satisfied air. "It's some obvious you've coppered his play," said Broncho. "I allows he's done jumped this earthly game for good," he added, turning to Jack and indicating Barker, who already had the death-rattle in his throat. "Yes, I'm afraid he's _pelili_[4]; these buckos are always looking for it, and they generally get it in the end," answered Jack quietly. "I heard him call Pedro by a name yesterday which it's suicidal to use to any of the Latin races, and one I've frequently seen cause gun-play in the West, as no doubt you have too." There was a hush on the yard as they watched the dying man, who was already unconscious. It was not a pleasant sight, but was viewed by Jack, Broncho, and Ben Sluice with calm eyes and level pulses. All three had been familiar with death in many strange and horrible forms, and their senses were blunted to the keenness of the horror. But Curly, only a boy in years, hung over the yardarm white and sick and shaking, whilst Sam, the coloured man, drew back frightened and nerveless. The dago, however, stared indifferently, as cool and unmoved as a Sioux Indian. Suddenly death came! There was a spasmodic twitching of the limbs, a sudden gush of blood from the mouth, nose, and ears, the pupils of the eyes grew glassy, their whites showed, the head dropped back heavily on Ben's shoulder, and the complexion took on that strange appearance of wax as the bucko's spirit fled. * * * * * Shifting sail is a busy bit of work. The bosun and his men on the fore, with their backs turned, were busy stretching their sail to a chorus, all in ignorance of the tragedy which had just occurred; whilst Black Davis, with the rest of the hands, was in the sail-locker, putting away the unbent sails. At this moment he appeared on deck, followed by a line of men shouldering a main course, which looked for all the world like a huge white serpent, coming along the deck on six pairs of legs. It was a delicious day. The north-east trade wind was light, and the _Higgins_ was sneaking along over the deep blue of the Pacific, doing hardly six knots. The bright sun shone upon the gleaming cotton canvas, giving it the dazzling appearance of snow. As the mate stepped forward of the mainmast, he glanced casually up at the men at work above. The first thing to catch his eye was the red stain of blood on the bellying breast of the topsail, and then he noticed that the men on the yard seemed to be all crowded into the bunt. "Brazen sarpints! What the tarnation hell air yew doin' up thar?" he roared. "Second mate's got badly stuck, sir," replied Jack. "Who stuck him?"