The Mucker by Edgar Rice Burroughs

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"The memory of it and him will always help me," she
answered quietly. "They will help me to bear whatever is
before me bravely, and, when the time comes, to die bravely;
for I shall always feel that upon the other side a true, brave
heart is awaiting me."

The man was silent. After a moment the girl spoke again.
"I think I would rather be alone, Larry," she said. "I am
very unhappy and nervous. Possibly I could sleep now."

With a bow he turned and left the cabin.

For weeks the Halfmoon kept steadily on her course, a little
south of west. There was no material change in the relations
of those aboard her. Barbara Harding, finding herself unmolested,
finally acceded to the repeated pleas of Mr. Divine, to
whose society she had been driven by loneliness and fear, and
appeared on deck frequently during the daylight watches.
Here, one afternoon, she came face to face with Theriere for
the first time since her abduction. The officer lifted his cap
deferentially; but the girl met his look of expectant recognition
with a cold, blank stare that passed through and beyond him
as though he had been empty air.

A tinge of color rose to the man's face, and he continued
on his way for a moment as though content to accept her
rebuff; but after a step or two he turned suddenly and
confronted her.

"Miss Harding," he said, respectfully, "I cannot blame you
for the feeling of loathing and distrust you must harbor
toward me; but in common justice I think you should hear
me before finally condemning."

"I cannot imagine," she returned coldly, "what defense
there can be for the cowardly act you perpetrated."

"I have been utterly deceived by my employers," said
Theriere, hastening to take advantage of the tacit permission to
explain which her reply contained. "I was given to understand
that the whole thing was to be but a hoax--that I was taking
part in a great practical joke that Mr. Divine was to play
upon his old friends, the Hardings and their guests. Until they
wrecked and deserted the Lotus in mid-ocean I had no idea
that anything else was contemplated, although I felt that the
matter, even before that event, had been carried quite far
enough for a joke.

"They explained," he continued, "that before sailing you
had expressed the hope that something really exciting and
adventurous would befall the party--that you were tired of
the monotonous humdrum of twentieth-century existence--
that you regretted the decadence of piracy, and the expunging
of romance from the seas.

"Mr. Divine, they told me, was a very wealthy young man,
to whom you were engaged to be married, and that he could
easily afford the great expense of the rather remarkable hoax
we were supposed to be perpetrating. I saw no harm in taking
part in it, especially as I knew nothing of the supposititious
purpose of the cruise until just before we reached Honolulu.
Before that I had been led to believe that it was but a pleasure
trip to the South Pacific that Mr. Divine intended.

"You see, Miss Harding, that I have been as badly deceived
as you. Won't you let me help to atone for my error by being
your friend? I can assure you that you will need one whom
you can trust amongst this shipload of scoundrels."

"Who am I to believe?" cried the girl. "Mr. Divine assures
me that he, too, has been forced into this affair, but by threats
of death rather than deception."

The expression on Mr. Theriere's face was eloquent of
sarcastic incredulity.

"How about the note of introduction that I carried to your
father from Mr. Divine?" asked Theriere.

"He says that he was compelled to write it at the point of a
revolver," replied the girl.

"Come with me, Miss Harding," said the officer. "I think
that I may be able to convince you that Mr. Divine is not on
any such bad terms with Skipper Simms as would be the case
were his story to you true."

As he spoke he started toward the companionway leading
to the officers' cabins. Barbara Harding hesitated at the top of
the stairway.

"Have no fear, Miss Harding," Theriere reassured her.
"Remember that I am your friend and that I am merely attempting
to prove it to your entire satisfaction. You owe it to
yourself to discover as soon as possible who your friends are
aboard this ship, and who your enemies."

"Very well," said the girl. "I can be in no more danger one
place aboard her than another."

Theriere led her directly to his own cabin, cautioning her to
silence with upraised forefinger. Softly, like skulking criminals,
they entered the little compartment. Then Theriere turned and
closed the door, slipping the bolt noiselessly as he did so.
Barbara watched him, her heart beating rapidly with fear and
suspicion.

"Here," whispered Theriere, motioning her toward his
berth. "I have found it advantageous to know what goes on
beyond this partition. You will find a small round hole near
the head of the berth, about a foot above the bedding. Put
your ear to it and listen--I think Divine is in there now."

The girl, still frightened and fearful of the man's intentions,
did, nevertheless, as he bid. At first she could make out
nothing beyond the partition but a confused murmur of
voices, and the clink of glass, as of the touch of the neck of a
bottle against a goblet. For a moment she remained in tense
silence, her ear pressed to the tiny aperture. Then, distinctly,
she heard the voice of Skipper Simms.

"I'm a-tellin' you, man," he was saying, "that there wan't
nothin' else to be done, an' I'm a-gettin' damn sick o' hearin'
you finding fault all the time with the way I been a-runnin' o'
this little job."

"I'm not finding fault, Simms," returned another voice
which the girl recognized immediately as Divine's; "although I
do think that it was a mistake to so totally disable the Lotus
as you did. Why, how on earth are we ever to return to
civilization if that boat is lost? Had she been simply damaged
a little, in a way that they could themselves have fixed up, the
delay would have been sufficient to permit us to escape, and
then, when Miss Harding was returned in safety to her father,
after our marriage, they would have been so glad to be
reunited that he easily could have been persuaded to drop the
matter. Then another thing; you intended to demand a ransom
for both Miss Harding and myself, to carry out the
fiction of my having been stolen also--how can you do that if
Mr. Harding be dead? And do you suppose for a moment
that Miss Harding will leave a single stone unturned to bring
the guilty to justice if any harm has befallen her father or his
guests? If so you do not know her as well as I."

The girl turned away from the partition, her face white and
drawn, her eyes inexpressibly sad. She rose to her feet, facing
Theriere.

"I have heard quite enough, thank you, Mr. Theriere," she
said.

"You are convinced then that I am your friend?" he asked.

"I am convinced that Mr. Divine is not," she replied
non-committally.

She took a step toward the door. Theriere stood looking at
her. She was unquestionably very good to look at. He could
not remember ever having seen a more beautiful girl. A great
desire to seize her in his arms swept over the man. Theriere
had not often made any effort to harness his desires. What
he wanted it had been his custom to take--by force if
necessary. He took a step toward Barbara Harding. There was
a sudden light in his eyes that the girl had not before seen
there, and she reached quickly toward the knob of the door.

Theriere was upon her, and then, quickly, he mastered
himself, for he recalled his coolly thought-out plan based on
what Divine had told him of that clause in the will of the
girl's departed grandparent which stipulated that the man who
shared the bequest with her must be the choice of both herself
and her father. He could afford to bide his time, and play the
chivalrous protector before he essayed the role of lover.

Barbara had turned a half-frightened look toward him as
he advanced--in doubt as to his intentions.

"Pardon me, Miss Harding," he said; "the door is bolted--
let me unlatch it for you," and very gallantly he did so,
swinging the portal wide that she might pass out. "I feared
interruption," he said, in explanation of the bolt.

In silence they returned to the upper deck. The intoxication
of sudden passion now under control, Theriere was again
master of himself and ready to play the cold, calculating,
waiting game that he had determined upon. Part of his plan
was to see just enough of Miss Harding to insure a place in
her mind at all times; but not enough to suggest that he was
forcing himself upon her. Rightly, he assumed that she would
appreciate thoughtful deference to her comfort and safety
under the harrowing conditions of her present existence more
than a forced companionship that might entail too open
devotion on his part. And so he raised his cap and left her,
only urging her to call upon him at any time that he might be
of service to her.

Left alone the girl became lost in unhappy reflections, and
in the harrowing ordeal of attempting to readjust herself to
the knowledge that Larry Divine, her lifelong friend, was the
instigator of the atrocious villainy that had been perpetrated
against her and her father. She found it almost equally difficult
to believe that Mr. Theriere was so much more sinned against
than sinning as he would have had her believe. And yet, did
his story not sound even more plausible than that of Divine
which she had accepted before Theriere had made it possible
for her to know the truth? Why, then, was it so difficult for
her to believe the Frenchman? She could not say, but in the
inmost recesses of her heart she knew that she mistrusted and
feared the man.

As she stood leaning against the rail, buried deep in
thought, Billy Byrne passed close behind her. At sight of her a
sneer curled his lip. How he hated her! Not that she ever had
done aught to harm him, but rather because she represented
to him in concrete form all that he had learned to hate and
loathe since early childhood.

Her soft, white skin; her shapely hands and well-cared-for
nails; her trim figure and perfectly fitting suit all taunted him
with their superiority over him and his kind. He knew that she
looked down upon him as an inferior being. She was of the
class that addressed those in his walk of life as "my man."
Lord, how he hated that appellation!

The intentness of his gaze upon her back had the effect so
often noted by the observant, and suddenly aroused from the
lethargy of her misery the girl swung around to meet the
man's eyes squarely upon her. Instantly she recognized him as
the brute who had killed Billy Mallory. If there had been hate
in the mucker's eyes as he looked at the girl, it was as nothing
by comparison with the loathing and disgust which sprang to
hers as they rested upon his sullen face.

So deep was her feeling of contempt for this man, that the
sudden appearance of him before her startled a single exclamation
from her.

"Coward!" came the one word, involuntarily, from her lips.

The man's scowl deepened menacingly. He took a threatening
step toward her.

"Wot's dat?" he growled. "Don't get gay wit me, or I'll
black dem lamps fer yeh," and he raised a heavy fist as
though to strike her.

The mucker had looked to see the girl cower before his
threatened blow--that would have been ample atonement for
her insult, and would have appealed greatly to his Kelly-gang
sense of humor. Many a time had he threatened women thus,
for the keen enjoyment of hearing their screams of fright and
seeing them turn and flee in terror. When they had held their
ground and opposed him, as some upon the West Side had
felt sufficiently muscular to do, the mucker had not hesitated
to "hand them one." Thus only might a man uphold his
reputation for bravery in the vicinage of Grand Avenue.

He had looked to see this girl of the effete and effeminate
upper class swoon with terror before him; but to his intense
astonishment she but stood erect and brave before him, her
head high held, her eyes cold and level and unafraid. And
then she spoke again.

"Coward!" she said.

Billy almost struck her; but something held his hand. What,
he could not understand. Could it be that he feared this
slender girl? And at this juncture, when the threat of his
attitude was the most apparent, Second Officer Theriere came
upon the scene. At a glance he took in the situation, and with
a bound had sprung between Billy Byrne and Barbara Harding.

CHAPTER VI

THE MUCKER AT BAY

"WHAT has this man said to you, Miss Harding?" cried Theriere.
"Has he offered you harm?"

"I do not think that he would have dared strike me,"
replied the girl, "though he threatened to do so. He is the
coward who murdered poor Mr. Mallory upon the Lotus. He
might stoop to anything after that."

Theriere turned angrily upon Byrne.

"Go below!" he shouted. "I'll attend to you later. If Miss
Harding were not here I'd thrash you within an inch of your
life now. And if I ever hear of your speaking to her again, or
offering her the slightest indignity I'll put a bullet through you
so quick you won't know what has struck you."

"T'ell yeh will!" sneered Billy Byrne. "I got your number,
yeh big stiff; an' yeh better not get gay wit me. Dey ain't no
guy on board dis man's ship dat can hand Billy Byrne dat
kin' o' guff an' get away with it--see?" and before Theriere
knew what had happened a heavy fist had caught him upon
the point of the chin and lifted him clear off the deck to drop
him unconscious at Miss Harding's feet.

"Yeh see wot happens to guys dat get gay wit me?" said the
mucker to the girl, and then stooping over the prostrate form
of the mate Billy Byrne withdrew a huge revolver from Theriere's
hip pocket.

"I guess I'll need dis gat in my business purty soon," he
remarked.

Then he planted a vicious kick in the face of the unconscious
man and went his way to the forecastle.

"Now maybe she'll tink Billy Byrne's a coward," he
thought, as he disappeared below.

Barbara Harding stood speechless with shock at the brutality
and ferocity of the unexpected attack upon Theriere. Never
in all her life had she dreamed that there could exist upon the
face of the earth a thing in human form so devoid of honor,
and chivalry, and fair play as the creature that she had just
witnessed threatening a defenseless woman, and kicking an
unconscious man in the face; but then Barbara Harding had
never lived between Grand Avenue and Lake Street, and
Halsted and Robey, where standards of masculine bravery are
strange and fearful.

When she had recovered her equanimity she hastened to the
head of the cabin companionway and called aloud for help.
Instantly Skipper Simms and First Officer Ward rushed on
deck, each carrying a revolver in readiness for the conflict
with their crew that these two worthies were always expecting.

Barbara pointed out the still form of Theriere, quickly
explaining what had occurred.

"It was the fellow Byrne who did it," she said. "He has
gone into the forecastle now, and he has a revolver that he
took from Mr. Theriere after he had fallen."

Several of the crew had now congregated about the
prostrate officer.

"Here you," cried Skipper Simms to a couple of them; "you
take Mr. Theriere below to his cabin, an' throw cold water in
his face. Mr. Ward, get some brandy from my locker, an' try
an' bring him to. The rest of you arm yourselves with crowbars
and axes, an' see that that son of a sea cook don't get
out on deck again alive. Hold him there 'til I get a couple of
guns. Then we'll get him, damn him!"

Skipper Simms hastened below while two of the men were
carrying Theriere to his cabin and Mr. Ward was fetching the
brandy. A moment later Barbara Harding saw the skipper
return to the upper deck with a rifle and two revolvers. The
sailors whom he had detailed to keep Byrne below were
gathered about the hatchway leading to the forecastle. Some
of them were exchanging profane and pleasant badinage with
the prisoner.

"Yeh better come up an' get killed easy-like;" one called
down to the mucker. "We're apt to muss yeh all up down
there in the dark with these here axes and crowbars, an' then
wen we send yeh home yer pore maw won't know her little
boy at all."

"Yeh come on down here, an' try mussin' me up," yelled
back Billy Byrne. "I can lick de whole gang wit one han' tied
behin' me--see?"

"De skipper's gorn to get his barkers, Billy," cried Bony
Sawyer. "Yeh better come up an' stan' trial if he gives yeh the
chanct."

"Stan' nothin'," sneered Billy. "Swell chanct I'd have wit
him an' Squint Eye holdin' court over me. Not on yer life,
Bony. I'm here, an' here I stays till I croaks, but yeh better
believe me, I'm goin, to croak a few before I goes, so if any
of you ginks are me frien's yeh better keep outen here so's yeh
won't get hurted. An' anudder ting I'm goin' to do afore I
cashes in--I'm goin' to put a few of dem ginks in de cabin
wise to where dey stands wit one anudder. If I don't start
something before I goes out me name's not Billy Byrne."

At this juncture Skipper Simms appeared with the three
weapons he had gone to his cabin to fetch. He handed one to
Bony Sawyer, another to Red Sanders and a third to a man
by the name of Wison.

"Now, my men," said Skipper Simms, "we will go below
and bring Byrne up. Bring him alive if you can--but bring
him."

No one made a move to enter the forecastle.

"Go on now, move quickly," commanded Skipper Simms
sharply.

"Thought he said 'we'," remarked one of the sailors.

Skipper Simms, livid with rage, turned to search out the
offender from the several men behind him.

"Who was that?" he roared. "Show me the blitherin' swab.
Jes' show him to me, I tell you, an I'll learn him. Now you,"
he yelled at the top of his voice, turning again to the men he
had ordered into the forecastle after Billy Byrne, "you cowardly
landlubbers you, get below there quick afore I kick you
below."

Still no one moved to obey him. From white he went to
red, and then back to white again. He fairly frothed at the
mouth as he jumped up and down, cursing the men, and
threatening. But all to no avail. They would not go.

"Why, Skipper," spoke up Bony Sawyer, "it's sure death for
any man as goes below there. It's easier, an' safer, to starve
him out."

"Starve nothin'," shrieked Skipper Simms. "Do you reckon
I'm a-goin' to sit quiet here for a week an' let any blanked
wharf rat own that there fo'c's'le just because I got a lot o'
white-livered cowards aboard? No sir! You're a-goin' down
after that would-be bad man an' fetch him up dead or alive,"
and with that he started menacingly toward the three who
stood near the hatch, holding their firearms safely out of range
of Billy Byrne below.

What would have happened had Skipper Simms completed
the threatening maneuver he had undertaken can never be
known, for at this moment Theriere pushed his way through
the circle of men who were interested spectators of the
impending tragedy.

"What's up, sir?" he asked of Simms. "Anything that I can
help you with?"

"Oh!" exclaimed the skipper; "so you ain't dead after all,
eh? Well that don't change the looks of things a mite. We
gotta get that man outa there an' these flea-bitten imitations of
men ain't got the guts to go in after him."

"He's got your gun, sir," spoke up Wison, "an' Gawd
knows he be the one as'ud on'y be too glad for the chanct to
use it."

"Let me see if I can't handle him, sir," said Theriere to
Skipper Simms. "We don't want to lose any men if we can
help it."

The skipper was only too glad to welcome this unexpected
rescue from the predicament in which he had placed himself.
How Theriere was to accomplish the subjugation of the mutinous
sailor he could not guess, nor did he care so long as it
was done without risk to his own skin.

"Now if you'll go away, sir," said Theriere, "and order the
men away I'll see what I can do."

Skipper Simms did as Theriere had requested, so that
presently the officer stood alone beside the hatch. Across the
deck, amidships, the men had congregated to watch Theriere's
operations, while beyond them stood Barbara Harding held
fascinated by the grim tragedy that was unfolding before her
upon this accursed vessel.

Theriere leaned over the open hatch, in full view of the
waiting Byrne, ready below. There was the instant report of a
firearm and a bullet whizzed close past Theriere's head.

"Avast there, Byrne!" he shouted. "It's I, Theriere. Don't
shoot again, I want to speak to you."

"No monkey business now," growled the mucker in reply.
"I won't miss again."

"I want to talk with you, Byrne," said Theriere in a low
tone. "I'm coming down there."

"No you ain't, cul," returned Byrne; "leastways yeh ain't
a-comin' down here alive."

"Yes I am, Byrne," replied Theriere, "and you don't want
to be foolish about it. I'm unarmed. You can cover me with
your gun until you have satisfied yourself as to that. I'm the
only man on the ship that can save your life--the only man
that has any reason to want to; but we've got to talk it over
and we can't talk this way where there's a chance of being
overheard. I'll be on the square with you if you will with me,
and if we can't come to terms I'll come above again and you
won't be any worse off than you are now. Here I come," and
without waiting for an acceptance of his proposition the
second officer of the Halfmoon slipped over the edge of the
hatchway and disappeared from the sight of the watchers
above.

That he was a brave man even Billy Byrne had to admit,
and those above who knew nothing of the relations existing
between the second mate and the sailor, who had so recently
felled him, thought that his courage was little short of
marvelous. Theriere's stock went up by leaps and bounds
in the estimation of the sailors of the Halfmoon, for degraded
though they were they could understand and appreciate
physical courage of this sort, while to Barbara Harding the
man's act seemed unparalleled in its utter disregard of the
consequences of life and death to himself that it entailed. She
suddenly was sorry that she had entertained any suspicions
against Theriere--so brave a man could not be other than the
soul of honor, she argued.

Once below Theriere found himself covered by his own
revolver in the hands of a very desperate and a very unprincipled
man. He smiled at Byrne as the latter eyed him suspiciously.

"See here, Byrne," said Theriere. "It would be foolish for
me to say that I am doing this for love of you. The fact is
that I need you. We cannot succeed, either one of us, alone. I
think you made a fool play when you hit me today. You
know that our understanding was that I was to be even a
little rougher with you than usual, in order to avoid suspicion
being attached to any seeming familiarity between us, should
we be caught conferring together. I had the chance to bawl
you out today, and I thought that you would understand that
I was but taking advantage of the opportunity which it
afforded to make it plain to Miss Harding that there could be
nothing other than hatred between us--it might have come in
pretty handy later to have her believe that.

"If I'd had any idea that you really intended hitting me
you'd have been a dead man before your fist reached me,
Byrne. You took me entirely by surprise; but that's all in the
past--I'm willing to let bygones be bygones, and help you out
of the pretty pickle you've got yourself into. Then we can go
ahead with our work as though nothing had happened. What
do you say?"

"I didn't know yeh was kiddin," replied the mucker, "or I
wouldn't have hit yeh. Yeh acted like yeh meant it."

"Very well, that part's understood," said Theriere. "Now
will you come out if I can square the thing with the skipper
so's you won't get more than a day or so in irons--he'll have
to give you something to save his own face; but I promise that
you'll get your food regularly and that you won't be beaten
up the way you were before when he had you below. If he
won't agree to what I propose I give you my word to tell you
so."

"Go ahead," said Billy Byrne; "I don't trust nobody wen I
don't have to; but I'll be dinged if I see any other way out of
it."

Theriere returned to the deck and seeking out the skipper
drew him to one side.

"I can get him up peaceably if I can assure him that he'll
only get a day or so in the cooler, with full rations and no
beatings. I think, sir, that that will be the easiest way out of it.
We cannot spare a man now--if we want to get the fellow
later we can always find some pretext."

"Very well, Mr. Theriere," replied the skipper, "I'll leave the
matter entirely in your hands--you can do what you want
with the fellow; it's you as had your face punched."

Theriere returned immediately to the forecastle, from which
he presently emerged with the erstwhile recalcitrant Byrne, and
for two days the latter languished in durance vile, and that
was the end of the episode, though its effects were manifold.
For one thing it implanted in the heart of Theriere a personal
hatred for the mucker, so that while heretofore his intention of
ridding himself of the man when he no longer needed him was
due purely to a matter of policy, it was now reinforced by a
keen desire for personal revenge. The occurrence had also had
its influence upon Barbara Harding, in that it had shown her
Mr. Theriere in a new light--one that reflected credit upon
him. She had thought his magnanimous treatment of the sailor
little short of heroic; and it had deepened the girl's horror of
Billy Byrne until it now amounted to little short of an obsession.
So vivid an impression had his brutality made upon her
that she would start from deep slumber, dreaming that she
was menaced by him.

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