in rapid succession. In the pause which
ensued he refilled his weapon. There was a chorus of ugly growls and a
concerted movement towards the door. He shot again, aiming low and
relying as much on the flash and noise to frighten them as on actual
killing. To those without it sounded as though there might be several
men. No one knew but what the man next to him had turned traitor. They
groped for one another's throats and finally, as though by one
impulse, crowded for the exit. They fought and pounded and kicked at
each other. It was every man for himself and the Devil take the
hindmost. Wilson helped them along by continued shooting--aiming high
and low. In five minutes the cabin was cleared save for the wounded,
who managed, however, to drag themselves out of sight.

As Wilson fell back exhausted and half choked from the smoke with
which the room was filled, he heard the bark of pistols above and knew
that the crew had reached the deck. He waited only long enough to
recover strength to walk, and then moved cautiously forward. He was
undisturbed. The mutineers had gone, to the last man able to stand. He
groped his way to Danbury's cabin and his hand fell upon a limp form
in the bunk. But even as he recoiled the man moved and muttered feeble
queries.

"Are you safe, Danbury?" gasped Wilson.

"What--what's the trouble? Give me a drink--brandy."

Wilson turned to the wine closet just beyond the bunk and drew out the
first bottle his fingers touched. He placed it to Danbury's lips, and
the latter took several deep swallows of it, spitting indignantly as
he thrust it away.

"Darned stuff--Martini cocktails. But--but----"

Wilson found himself laughing. Nothing Danbury could have said would
so prove the inconsequence of his injuries. It relieved his strained
nerves until, in reaction, he became almost hysterical.

"What's the joke?" demanded Danbury, rising to a sitting posture and
feeling at the cut in the back of his head. "Where's the lights? What
has happened?"

"A bit of a fight. Can you make your feet?"

Danbury groped for the side of the bunk, and with the help of Wilson
stood up. He was at first dizzy, but he soon came to himself.

"If you can walk, come on. I want to look for Stubbs."

Wilson groped his way into the smoke-filled passageway and across to
the other cabin. They found Stubbs lying on the floor unconscious. A
superficial examination revealed no serious wound and so, urged on by
the increasi