A storm of outcries went up in English, Dutch and French, the protest breaking in an angry wave. Bose flung about, silenced it with a roar, then swung again on Crawford. “This is a company matter,” said he, “and we’ll take no orders from you that haven’t been voted on. North we’ll not go----” Crawford’s eyes and voice bit out at him like cold steel. “You dog, you! North you’ll go, and the rest of you!” There was a moment of silence, so shocked and taken aback were they by this speech. Then Bose whipped out a pistol and lifted it. The next instant it was dashed from his hand, as the tomahawk whirled and glittered and knocked the weapon over the rail. Crawford put his hand to the second axe at his belt and laughed. “That’s it, eh? Now, bullies, who wants it fair between the eyes? Fair warning, lads----” Bose backed hastily into the crowd, but from the other men came a storm of oaths. Then a huge negro at the right of the gang moved suddenly. “Down with him!” he shouted in French, and from his hand a pistol roared. The bullet shaved Crawford’s neck and left a red weal to mark its passing; then the keen axe that flamed in the sunlight took the giant squarely between the eyes and sank into the skull, and the negro pitched backward against the bulwark, where he kicked convulsively and died. “Knife to the next,” said Crawford, and took the knife ready for the cast. But the men shrank, for this sort of play was new to them. And as they hesitated, Crawford spat forth an order. “For’ard with you! The cap’n will tell you of our course and where the gold awaits us; so vote all you cursed please, but don’t come to me with pistols out. For’ard with you! Hal Crawford goes north, and you with him!” Then he leaped at them, catching Bose a buffet that knocked the hulking fellow across the deck. Knives flamed, curses filled the air with wild outcry, and as the men still hesitated, the powerful bellow of Vanderberg arose. The cap’n leaped on deck, with Frontin at his heels. “What’s this?” cried Vanderberg, a pistol in each hand. “Nothing,” said Crawford, turning aft. “I was demonstrating to these good fellows of yours that an Indian axe is swifter than a pistol. The demonstration is satisfactory. If you’ll break out a little rum, and tell these lads of the wrecked galleon that we go to sack, the company will vote for the north. Two of you lads throw that black fellow overside and give me that tomahawk.” Vanderberg strode forward. Frontin looked at Crawford, and grinned thinly. “You’ve cowed them,” said he. “Now watch your back o’ dark nights.” “Not I,” said Crawford, and pointed forward. “They’ll fight for me now. You’ll see. They’ll be all for the north venture.” And a roar of applause to Vanderberg’s tale of gold approved his prediction. Thus easily were the wild, childish men swung to any purpose.