"This half-baked sluice-robber has the hell-freezin' nerve to insinnivate that my old woman don't bank none on my vartues," explained the injured benedict ferociously. Jack had been holding himself in up till now well enough, but this last was too much for him, and, doubling up, he burst into a roar of laughter, in which old Ben joined heartily, taking for granted that the laugh was on his side of the deck. "I guess Ben wouldn't think it so durned funny, if he'd drop that handspike an' stand up like a man," snarled Hank. "Book-sports allows as how it's women as causes mos' of the skin-ticklin' in this ornery globe, an' I reckon they shore hits the bull's-eye this time," remarked Broncho, sagely. "What's the row?" broke in Curly excitedly, coming up the topgallant-ladder in two bounds. "W'y, swipe me if ole Ben ain't been an' hurted Hank's delikit feelin's," explained the cockney. "It's a cert, son, as how Hank ain't out to have his back scratched that away. A wounded grizzly is mild an' dreamlike compared to him," added Broncho, with a slow droop of his left eye. "Vy don' you blunk 'im?" grunted the Dutchman's heavy voice, addressing itself to Hank. "Hell!" burst out the exasperated man. "If thet Dutch son of a carrion-crow gives me any durned chin-chin, I'll ram his ugly pig's-eyes outer the back of his head"; and Dutchy withered into his shell again. "Look-a-here, partner, ain't you had 'bout enuff o' this low-grade dust-raisin'," inquired Ben loftily; still, however, clinging to his trusty capstan-bar. "'Cos thar goes four bells an' it's my wheel." "Air you goin' to take in the slack o' them insinnivations?" demanded Hank, with dignity. "You jest step outer the trail an' let this outfit pass, or I reckon you'll be shy considerable epidermis in another minit," growled old Ben angrily, as Hank blocked his way down the topgallant-ladder. "Wall! Dog my cats if I stand to that!" roared Hank, and he made a wild rush at the old miner. Ben lunged out furiously with the handspike, but the long, wiry down-easter dodged the formidable weapon with catlike activity, and the next moment they were "in holds," in the parlance of the prize-ring. Clutched in each other's arms, they reeled across the foc's'le head like hugging bears, and then down they came with a crash on the deck. "I'll learn yew to miscall a free-born American citizen, yew long-ha'red dump-thief," screeched Hank, as they rolled over and he came on top. But with a desperate effort Ben reversed the positions, and as his horny fingers gripped the other's hairy throat he growled like an angry grizzly. "You reckon you's ugly, but this child's uglier." Hank tried hard to gurgle out a suitable retort, but his effort sounded like the choke of a ship's pump. Wildly he clutched at the iron hands on his throat, but in vain; he could not budge them. His breath began to come in short gasps, his face to flush purple beneath the deep tan, and his strength to leave him.