He worked his way through the crowd, none heeding him, and vanished up the ladder that led to the deck. “Crawford, be reasonable!” growled Vanderberg, with a ponderous oath. “The bark ye shall not have--so say we all.” “She has three guns trained on you,” said Crawford coolly. “Perhaps you noticed how she was moored? She’ll blow you all to hell and the gold with you, if I come not back.” Now, at any other time this threat would have won the day, for none doubted that it would be carried out. As it happened, however, the men who had returned with Bose were drunk with exultation and hot raw rum and the touch of gold; and those with Vanderberg were worn to the quick with mad drinking and madder work, so that at a dare they would all of them have attacked the devil and his angels. Too late, Crawford saw that his main petard had failed to explode. Ugly grins ran along the circle of black and bronzed and bearded faces, and an uglier murmur; hands went fumbling to knives, and men drew closer together before the companionway. Vanderberg showed his great yellow teeth in a grin of sneering anger. “Ye think that bullies of the main are adread of a shotted gun or two? Ye poor simpleton!” A wild outburst of laughter went up at this, and devilry was in the laughter. For a moment rang out scurrilous jests and oathy jibes; but as Crawford sat unmoving and quite cool, and as his frosty blue eyes swept them from man to man with a calm unconcern, they presently quieted. Not that they were abashed, however. “Traitor!” spat a negro, and others caught up the word. Now they were dangerous, for steel was out; they were persuaded against him in their hearts, and murder came close to the surface. Nor could it be avoided. Massed against him, Vanderberg with them, they had no fear of him now. They were on three sides of him, Bose and the captain at the table, his back to the wall of the cabin. There was a large stern window, but the glass had been smashed and a cloth nailed over it. Now an irresolute silence. Vanderberg put out a hand and gulped down what was left of the Spanish wine; it mixed ill with rum, for his cheeks fired red at once. Then he cocked his head, listening. In the silence came a squeaking from above, as of a block and tackle at work; but this was instantly forgotten, when Crawford played his last and most desperate card. He drew two pistols from under his coat and laid them on the table, and calmly primed them with a pinch of powder. “Gentlemen,” he said coolly, “we fail to agree. The one determining factor must be hot lead, if ye’ll have it so. So far as my share of the gold is concerned, I’ll give it to the fellows aboard the ketch who want to join you, but the bark is mine. I’m going back to her. Any of you lads want to ship with me?” “We’d ship wi’ the foul fiend sooner,” muttered one of them. Crawford laughed. “You’ll do that if ye try to stop me, lads. Careful, cap’n! Here are two pistols, and ye have none. I’ll----”