"Faith, an' I thought it was all killed we were," responded Tim, rather ashamed of his sudden alarm. "Not yet," replied the mate, with a grim attempt at humor. "Cheer up," said Tom, in the same strain. "The worst is yet to come." It was evident to the four on the after deck that the mutineers were as yet without guns, for they would have picked off the boys where they stood against the sky line, had they been able. But the battle was not won yet, in fact it had hardly begun. While the boys and the mate were gazing through the darkness at the knot of men near the forecastle, three sailors suddenly dashed from behind the main mast, and rushed for Tim's position near the ladder. He and the mate fired in unison at them, and evidently wounded one of their number, for with a howl of pain from the foremost, the three scuttled back toward the bow. "That's good, Tim," called Tom. "We'll hold 'em all right, eh?" "Don't want 'em near enough to hold," replied Tim. "That's painful," commented the mate, at Tim's attempted jest. "Get back there!" shouted Tom, catching sight of a dark form stealing along the bulwarks. But instead of getting back, the man jumped from the foot of Tom's ladder, and grasped the upper steps. Tom discharged the musket almost in the fellow's face, and with a groan he fell back on the deck. His comrades, however, now swarmed about the base of the ladder, and Tom, grasping his gun by the barrel, swung it with all his force on the head of the foremost sailor. The man following, however, succeeded in getting a foothold on the upper deck, and with an upraised dirk, drove Tom back from the ladder. Tom swung at him with the clubbed musket, knocked the dirk out of his upraised hand, and in another second was locked with him in hand to hand conflict. "Tim!" yelled Tom. "Coming!" answered Tim, and leaving the mate to guard their side, where the mutineers had been driven back, he rushed around the cabin to the aid of his friend. He was just in time. Tom and his opponent were rolling on the deck, each endeavoring to put the other out of the fight, and two more sailors were about to step upon the deck from the ladder. Leaving Tom to take care of himself, Tim attacked the ascending sailors. With a rush and wild shouts, he banged the foremost over the head and sent him crashing down upon the others of the group. Then firing his musket at the crowd, he completed their route, and the whole party fled to the shelter of the forecastle. "And now, where are ye, Tom?" he called. "Here," Tom replied, coming from behind the cabin. "If I hadn't hit that fellow on the arm before he closed with me, and knocked his dirk out of his grasp, he might have put me out of the way." "Where did ye put him, though?" asked Tim. "Around here," Tom said, pointing to a recumbent figure on the deck, with a handkerchief in his mouth and his hands and feet tied. The sailor rolled with the rise and fall of the ship and seemed most uncomfortable.