“You will have the irons, fellow!” Phips roared. A knife flashed in the air, and Bucklaw’s pistol was out at the same instant. The knife caught Bucklaw in the throat and he staggered against the table like a stuck pig, the bullet hit Radisson in the chest and he fell back against the wall, his pistol dropping from his hand. Bucklaw, bleeding heavily, lurched forwards, pulled himself together, and, stooping, emptied his pistol into the moaning Radisson. Then he sank on his knees, snatched the other’s pistol, and fired again into Radisson’s belly; after which with a last effort he plunged his own dagger into the throat of the dying man, and, with his fingers still on the handle, fell with a gurgling laugh across the Frenchman’s body. Radisson recovered for an instant. He gave a hollow cry, drew the knife from his own throat and, with a wild, shambling motion, struck at the motionless Bucklaw, pinning an arm to the ground. Then he muttered an oath and fell back dead. The tournament of blood was over. So swift had it been there was no chance to interfere. Besides, Gering was not inclined to save the life of either; while Phips, who now knew the chart, as he thought, as well as Bucklaw, was not concerned, though he liked the mutineer. For a moment they both looked at the shambles without speaking. Sailors for whom Phips had whistled crowded the cabin. “A damned bad start, Mr. Gering,” Phips said, as he moved towards the bodies. “For them, yes; but they might have given us a bad ending.” “For the Frenchman, he’s got less than was brewing for him, but Bucklaw was a humorous dog.” As he said this he stooped to Bucklaw and turned him over, calling to the sailors to clean the red trough and bring the dead men on deck, but presently he cried: “By the devil’s tail, the fellow lives! Here, a hand quick, you lubbers, and fetch the surgeon.” Bucklaw was not dead. He had got two ugly wounds and was bleeding heavily, but his heart still beat. Radisson’s body was carried on deck, and within half an hour was dropped into the deep. The surgeon, however, would not permit Bucklaw to be removed until he had been cared for, and so Phips and Gering went on deck and made preparations for the treasure-hunt. A canoe was hollowed out by a dozen men in a few hours, the tender was got ready, the men and divers told off, and Gering took command of the searching-party, while Phips remained on the ship. They soon had everything ready for a start in the morning. Word was brought that Bucklaw still lived, but was in a high fever, and that the chances were all against him; and Phips sent cordials and wines from his own stores, and asked that news be brought to him of any change.