"'My God! I thought we were gone,' gasped one. "Then the second booby let fly: "'What an escape! A second longer and I should have been drowned----' "'How terrible!' I put in brutally. "'Terrible? Yes, you're right. Isn't the sea awful? I've never been in such danger in my life before.' "'Nor ever will be again if you can help it, I expect,' I sneered. "But their minds were too overwrought to take any notice of my brutal speeches. "'I thought I should burst----' began the fattest. "'I've often thought you'd do that,' I cut in cheerfully. "'----from holding my breath so long,' he finished, eyeing me dismally. "Well, the end of it all was, I got the unhappy trio below, battened 'em down, and weathered it out by my lonesome. Twenty-seven hours at the tiller! Ever since that cruise, whenever a man begins to talk about his life being in danger, I begin to get hot in the collar." "Land folk is certainly queer that way an' easily scared," commented the pacified Red Bill. "Gettin' scared is easy. The bigges' fire-eatin' son of a gun is scared some time in his life; but it's givin' away your hand an' showin' you're scared that gets you logged down as plumb nerveless an' no account," remarked old Ben sagely. "You're shore right, Ben," agreed Broncho. "It's the white-livered coyote who can't keep his mental fears corralled who goes to drawin' his gun when there ain't no need, an' gets over shootin' an' pluggin' the wrong gent." "Thet's so, pardner," grunted the gambler. "See this scar?" pointing to a livid streak on his cheek-bone. "I gets that from a tenderfoot back-east puppy as acts the way you mentions." "He sartinly makes a greevious mistake that time," returned Broncho ambiguously. "He shore would ha' had a depitation o' thanks from his grateful pards if he'd hit the bull's-eye, I reckon," rumbled old Ben in a loud aside. At this moment the bell went, and the watch on deck got hastily to their feet, caught up caps, and knocked the ashes out of their pipes before going aft. * * * * * Sometimes Broncho and Jack would sneak into the bosun's little berth in the midshiphouse. Here the three of them, with pipes smoking like chimneys, passed many a pleasant hour. Over the bosun's bunk was the worn and faded photograph of a very pretty girl. This picture seemed to attract the rolling-stone in some strange way, for often he stared fixedly at it with a faraway look in his eyes, as if he were peering back into the past and trying to recall some half-forgotten memory. One night, noticing his rapt gaze, the bosun remarked casually: "Yes, she's a nice-lookin' gal, ain't she?" "I beg your pardon!" said Jack hastily, the dark red flushing through his tan. "I didn't mean to be rude, but that photograph reminds me of somebody."