exchanged: and that was all
they saw, though they stared and stared. They turned back to Fenayrou
and found him in the act of tilting the bottle. A cunning slash of his
knife had loosed it from its sling at the doctor's side.... Even now he
was sucking at the mouth, spilling the precious liquid--

With one sweep Perroquet caught up their paddle and flattened him,
crushed him.

Springing across the prostrate man, Dubosc snatched the flask upright
and put the width of the raft between himself and the big garroter who
stood wide-legged, his bloodshot eyes alight, rumbling in his chest.

"There is no ship," said The Parrot. "There will be no ship. We are
done. Because of you and your rotten promises that brought us
here--doctor, liar, ass!"

Dubosc stood firm.

"Come a step nearer and I break bottle and all over your head."

They stood regarding each other, and Perroquet's brows gathered in a
slow effort of thought.

"Consider," urged Dubosc with his quaint touch of pedantry. "Why should
you and I fight? We are rational men. We can see this trouble through
and win yet. Such weather cannot last forever. Besides, here are only
two of us to divide the water now."

"That is true," nodded The Parrot. "That is true, isn't it? Fenayrou
kindly leaves us his share. An inheritance--what? A famous idea. I'll
take mine now."

Dubosc probed him keenly.

"My share, at once, if you please," insisted Perroquet, with heavy
docility. "Afterward, we shall see. Afterward."

The doctor smiled his grim and wan little smile.

"So be it."

Without relinquishing the flask he brought out his canvas wallet once
more--that wallet which replaced the professional black bag--and rolled
out the thimble by some swift sleight of his flexible fingers while he
held Perroquet's glance with his own.

"I will measure it for you."

He poured the thimbleful and handed it over quickly, and when Perroquet
had tossed it off he filled again and again.

"Four--five," he counted. "That is enough."

But The Parrot's big grip closed quietly around his wrist at the last
offering and pinioned him and held him helpless.

"No, it is not enough. Now I will take the rest. Ha, wise man! Have I
fooled you at last?"

There was no chance to struggle, and Dubosc did not try, only stayed
smiling up at him, waiting.

Perroquet took the bottle.

"The best man wins," he remarked. "Eh, my zig? A bright notion--of
yours. The--best--"

His lips moved, but no