For an instant there was silence. Then an angry roar burst from the indignant jackies as they made a concerted rush for Kester, who had sought to follow up his advantage and inflict further punishment on his victim while in this defenseless position. CHAPTER XIV—CALLED BEFORE THE MAST “Steady, boys! Don’t maul him up,” warned one of the cooler heads, as the men started to take the punishment of the bully into their own hands. Kester was a man who was very much disliked by his associates and shipmates. He was in his second enlistment. He had once been dismissed from the service, but, by means known to none of his shipmates, had managed to get back again. “Throw him overboard! It’s all the cur deserves.” “No; leave him for the kid to take care of.” “Yes, leave him to me,” interrupted Sam, raising himself on one elbow. “I’ll take care of him when my head gets plumb on my shoulders again. Did he hit me with a brick?” Before replying, the jackies conducted Kester to the forward bulkhead door. Through this they thrust him, half a dozen heavy shoes landing on him in swift kicks as he disappeared through the door. “What did you let him go for?” demanded Hickey getting his feet, leaning against the butt of a big gun for support. He was weak and trembling, but not for an instant did his natural grit desert him. “That’s all right, shipmate. You ain’t in no condition to mix it up with Bill. You wait till some other time and you’ll get your chance and it’ll be a fair and square knock-down fight, no under the belt foul tactics either. You’re the right kind, and we’re with you, even if you have got a combustible head of hair on you, and that stands all the time.” Sam took his way forward thoughtfully. He was still suffering from his illness and, besides, was weak from the effects of the blow he had received from Bill Kester. In the meantime, Kester, holding a handkerchief to his face, was making his way toward the surgeon’s quarters. His face was in sad need of repair, but he sought to hide that fact from his associates. “Hello, Bill, what’s the matter? Have an argument with somebody?” greeted a shipmate, with a quizzical squint at the bully’s face. “I ran into a stanchion,” explained Kester lamely, proceeding on his way, avoiding the curiosity of the men as much as possible. The surgeon, the instant he had taken a look at the man’s face, however, saw that something more than a stanchion had hit Bill on the nose. All his questions, however, were avoided. On his report to the captain, which the surgeon made every night, was the notation: “Bill Kester, seaman, badly battered face, broken nose, with a deep gash in it, evidently made by some sharp instrument. This man has been undoubtedly in a bloody fight.” That was all, but it was quite sufficient to start the wheels of discipline moving. That evening Kester was called upon by the master-at-arms. “Kester, I have come to ask you with whom you were in a fight to-day?”