erserker rage had burned itself
out. Handy Solomon continually wetted his lips, like an animal licking
its chops. Thrackles stared into space through eyes drugged with
killing. No one spoke.

We landed in the cove, and were surprised to find it in shadow. The
afternoon was far advanced. Over the hill we dragged ourselves, and
down to the spring. There the men threw themselves flat and drank in
great gulps until they could drink no more. We built a fire, but the
Nigger refused to cook.

"Someone else turn," he growled, "I cook aboard ship."

Perdosa, who had hewed the fuel, at once became angry.

"I cut heem de wood!" he said, "I do my share; eef I cut heem de wood
you mus' cook heem de grub!"

But the Nigger shook his head, and Perdosa went into an ecstasy of
rage. He kicked the fire to pieces; he scattered the unburned wood
up and down the beach; he even threw some of it into the sea.

"Eef you no cook heem de grub, you no hab my wood!" he shrieked, with
enough oaths to sink his soul.

Finally Pulz interfered.

"Here you damn foreigners," said he, "quit it! Let up, I say! We got
to eat. You let that wood alone, or you'll pick it up again!"

Perdosa sprang at him with a screech. Pulz was small but nimble, and
understood rough and tumble fighting. He met Perdosa's rush with two
swift blows--a short arm jab and an upper-cut. Then they clinched,
and in a moment were rolling over and over just beyond the wash of
the surf.

The row waked the Nigger from his sullen abstraction. He seemed to
come to himself with a start; his eye fell surprisedly on the
combatants, then lit up with an unholy joy. He drew his knife and
crept down on the fighters. It was too good an opportunity to pay off
the Mexican.

But Thrackles interfered sharply.

"Come off!" he commanded. "None o' that!"

"Go to hell!" growled the Nigger.

A great rage fell on them all, blind and terrible, like that leading
to the slaughter of the seals. They fought indiscriminately, hitting
at each other with fists and knives. It was difficult to tell who was
against whom. The sound of heavy breathing, dull blows, the tear of
cloth; and grunts of punishment received; the swirl of the sand, the
heave of struggling bodies, all riveted my attention, so that I did
not see Captain Ezra Selover until he stood almost at my elbow.
"Stop!" he shrieked in his high, falsetto voice.

And would you believe it, even through the blood haze of their combat
the men he