ified. The
expression in Swope's face when he looked at Newman was so terrible it
might almost of itself make a lad stop breathing--an expression of
gloating, pitiless, triumphant cruelty.

Lynch, in charge of the deck, stood apart from the others, but he too
was looking aft, not at me, but at Newman. There was something in his
bearing also which declared plainly that some ugly thing was about to
happen.

Yet Newman was permitted to pass the companion hatch without
interference. In fact, the pair turned their backs to him. I had, for
an instant, the wild hope that Newman was mistaken in his fears. But
only for an instant. Because, when Newman neared the forward end of
the poop, the two tradesmen of the port watch suddenly popped up from
the ladder and confronted him. Sails carried a sawed-off shotgun in
the crook of his arm, and Chips had a pair of handcuffs dangling in his
grasp.

Newman stopped short. Who would not, with the muzzle of a shotgun
carelessly pointed at his breast? No order to halt was needed.

Suddenly I saw through the skipper's game. Aye, and the devilish craft
of it horrified me, and wrung a cry of warning from my throat. For
when Newman halted, Swope and Fitzgibbon turned towards him, and, while
Swope continued to lounge against the hatch, the mate closed in behind
Newman, and I saw a revolver in his hand. At the same time, the man
with the shotgun said something to Newman, something that angered the
big fellow, I could tell from the way his shoulders humped and his body
tensed. Squarely behind him stood the mate.

Oh, it was a clever murder Yankee Swope had planned, a safe murder! If
Newman made any motion that could be interpreted as resisting arrest,
and was shot in the back and killed--why, the officer who shot him was
performing his duty, and an unruly sailor had received his deserts!
That is the way the log would put it, and that is the way folks ashore
would look at it.

The second mate saw through the scheme, also. I am sure he had no
previous knowledge of it, for an expression of surprise and
consternation showed in his face, and he threw up his arm in a warning
gesture. But it was I who warned Newman. I sang out lustily,

"Look out--behind you!"

Newman looked behind him. He threw back his head and laughed. It
amused him to see the mate standing there so sheepishly, with his
pistol in his hand. But I did not laugh, for Yankee Swope was staring
at me, and there