weight on his chest jerked
suddenly; the knife fell from the up-raised hand, the fingers loosened
on his throat. He saw Carew's eyes blinking rapidly, and an expression
of stupid surprise succeeded the triumphant ferocity in the man's face.
And then Carew rolled off him altogether, and lay quiet on the ground
by his side.

Dazed, Martin raised himself on his elbow. He saw the skirt, and then
the smoking revolver clutched in the little hand, and, his eyes leaping
upwards, Ruth's frightened face and wide open, horrified eyes. The
pain still gripped him, but he tried to get up, and he held out his
arms to her.

CHAPTER XXIII

CONCLUSION

"Aye, it was the knee he give you, lad. 'Ow was an innercent babe like
you to know about foul tricks o' fighting? But 'twas a close shave you
'ad, a blinkin' close shave, swiggle me stiff, it was! If it 'adn't
been for the lass grabbin' up 'is gun and potting the blighter--well,
it's a lucky lad you are, Martin, with a double treasure won, and but
sore muscles to pay." The bosun shifted his quid and spat over the
rail into the racing sea. "Aye, the lass," he mumbled. "A lucky lad,
that's wot."

"I know I am," answered Martin, humbly. "Oh, so lucky. If only poor
Billy had had some of my luck."

"'E was feyed, Martin," declared the bosun. "I knew from the moment
you told me wot Sails as 'ow I'd never clasp Little Billy's 'and again,
and 'im alive and cheery. Poor Billy! 'E was my mate, my chum, and
I'd give my share o' the swag ten times over just to 'ear 'im cuss me
out again."

They took a turn or two on the deck in sorrowful silence, Martin
limping somewhat painfully, and the big man accommodating his stride to
the other's progress. The brig was running before the wind, over a
sun-sparkled, white capped sea; every rag she owned was spread, and the
breeze snored aloft like an organ. The bosun paused at the poop break,
snorted into his large red handkerchief, and pretended to inspect the
drawing of the mainsail. Then, his emotion conquered, he resumed the
stroll.

"We left foul weather be'ind us in that black Devil's 'ole," he
commented. "Now it's fair winds and bright skies. Ow, well, swiggle
me stiff, wot's done is done and can't be undone, as Sails would 'ave
said. 'Tis fine weather for you, eh, lad--and you standin' the
moonlight watches with the lass by your side? Another day o' this, and
we'll be landin' those five yellow imps we got in the hold