“The Rodneys get it all,” Rafe said.
“Stand aside. I’m in a hurry.” Briggs’s face was ugly. “Don’t get high an’ mighty with me!” he said roughly. “Unless you split even with me, you don’t get away. I know about the boat you’ve got ready. I can stop you there, or here.” Rafe Caradec knew the futility of words. There are some natures to whom only violence is an argument. His left hand shot up suddenly, his stiffened fingers and thumb making a V that caught Briggs where his jawbone joined his throat.
The blow was short, vicious, unexpected.
Briggs’s head jerked back, and Rafe hooked short and hard with his right, following through with a smashing elbow that flattened Briggs’s nose and showered him with blood. Rafe dropped his bag and then struck, left and right to the body, then left and right to the chin.
The last two blows cracked like pistol shots.
Josh Briggs hit the foot of the ladder in a heap, rolled over, and lay still, his head partly under the table.
Rafe picked up his bag and went up the ladder without so much as a backward glance.
On the dark deck Rafe Caradec moved aft along the starboard side. A shadow moved out from the mainmast.
“You ready?” “Ready, Rock. his Two more men got up from the darkness near the foot of the mast, and all four hauled the boat from its place and got it to the side. “This the right place?” Penn asked.
“Almost.” Caradec straightened. “Get her ready. I’m going to call on the old man.
In the darkness he could feel their eyes on him.
“You think that’s wise?” “No, but he killed Rodne. I’ve got to see him.” “You goin’ to kill Borger?”‘ It was like them that they did not doubt he could if he wished. Somehow he had always impressed men so, that what he wanted to accomplish, he would accomplish.
“No, just a good beatin”. He’s had it comin’ for a long time.” Mullaney spat. He was a stocky, muscular man. “You’re cussed right he has! I’d like to help.” .. No, there’ll be no help for either of us. Stand by and watch for the mate.” Penn chuckled. “He’s tied up aft, by the wheel.” Rafe Caradec turned and walked forward. His soft leather sandals made no noise on the hardwood deck or on the companionway as he descended. He moved like a shadow along the bulkhead and saw the door of the captain’s cabin standing open. He was inside and had taken two steps before the captain looked up.
Bully Borger was big, almost a giant. He had a red beard around his jawbone under his chin. “He squinted from cold, gay eyes at Rafe.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded. “Trouble on deck?” “No, Captain,” Rafe said shortly, “there’s trouble here. I’ve come to beat you within an inch of your life, Captain. Charles Rodney is dead. You ruined his life, Captain, and then you killed him.” Borger was on his feet, catlike. Somehow, he had always known this moment would come. A dozen times he had told himself he should kill Caradee, but the man was a seaman, a first-class, able-bodied seaman, and in the lot of shanghaied crews there were few. So he had delayed. He lunged at the drawer for his brass knuckles. Rafe had been waiting for that, poised on the balls of his feet. His left hand dropped to the captain’s wrist in a grip like steel, and his right hand sank to the wrist in the captain’s middle. It stopped Borger, that punch did, stopped him flat-footed for only an instant, but that instant was enough. Rafe’s head darted forward, butting the bigger man in the face, and Rafe felt the bones crunch under his hard skull. Yet the agony gave Borger a burst of strength, and he tore the hand with the knucks loose and got his fingers through their holes. He lunged, swinging a roundhouse blow that would have dropped a bull elephant. Rafe went under the swing, his movements timed perfectly, his actions almost negligent. He smashed left and right to the wind. The punches drove wind from Borger’s stomach, and he doubled up, gasping.
Rafe dropped a palm to the back of the man’s head and shoved down hard. At the same instant, his knee came up, smashing Borger’s face into a gory pulp.
Bully Borger, the dirtiest fighter on many a waterfront, staggered back, moaning with pain. His face expressionless, Rafe Caradec stepped in and threw punches with both hands, driving, wicked punches that had the power of those broad shoulders behind them, and timed with the rolling of the ship. Left, right, left, right, blows that cut and chopped like meat cleavers. Borger tottered and fell back across the settee. Rafe wheeled to see Penn’s blond head in the doorway. Roy Penn stared at the bloody hulk and then at Rafe.
“Better come on. The cape’s showing off the starboard bow. was When they had the boat in the water, they slid down the rope one after the other.
Then Rafe slashed it with his belt knife, and the boat dropped back. The black bulk of the ship swept by them. Her stern lifted and then sank.
Rafe, at the tiller, turned the bow of the boat toward the monstrous blackness of the cape.
Mullaney and Penn got the sail up when the mast was stepped, and then Penn looked around at Rafe.
“That was mutiny, you know.” “It was,” Rafe said calmly. was I didn’t ask to go aboard, and knockout drops in a Barbary Coast dive ain’t my way of askin” for a year’s job!” “A year?” Penn swore. “Two years and more, for me. For Tex, too.” “You know this coast?” Mullaney asked.
Rafe nodded. “Not well, but there’s a place just north of the cape where we can run in. To the south the sunken ledges and rocks might tear our bottom out, but I think we can make this other place. Can you all swim?” The mountainous headland loomed black against the grayturning sky of the hours before daybreak.
The seaward face of the cape was rocky and waterworn along the shoreline. Rafe, studying the currents and the rocks, brought the boat neatly in among them and headed for a boulder-strewn gray beach where water curled and left a white ruffle of surf. They scrambled out of the boat and threw their gear on the narrow beach. “How about the boat?” Tex demanded. “Do we leave it?” “Shove her off, cut a hole in the bottom, and let her sink,” Rafe said. When the hole had been cut, they let the sea take the boat offshore a little, watching it fill and sink. Then they picked up their gear. Rafe Caradec led them inland, working along the shoulder of the mountain. The northern slope was covered with brush and trees, and afforded some concealment. Fog was rolling in from the sea, and soon the gray, cottony shroud of it had settled over the countryside.
When they had several miles behind them, Rafe drew to a halt. Penn opened the sack he was carrying and got out some bread, figs, coffee, and a pot. “Stole “em out of the captains stores,” he said. “Figured we might as well eat.” “Got anything to drink?” Mullaney rubbed the dark stubble on his wide jaws. , “Uh-huh. Two bottles of rum. Good stuff from Jamaica.” “You’ll do to ride the river with,” Tex said, squatting on his heels. He glanced up at Rafe. “What comes now?” “Wyomin , for me.” Rafe broke some sticks and put them into the fire Rock was kindling. “I made my promise to Rodney, and I’ll keep it.” “He trusted you.” Tex studied him thoughtfully. “Yes. I’m not goin” to let him down. Anyway,” he added, smiling, “Wyomin’s a long way from here, and we should be as far away as we can. They may try to find us. Mutiny’s a hangin’ offense.” “Ever run any cattle?” Tex wanted to know.
“Not since I was a kid. I was born in New Orleans, grew up near San Antone.
Rodney tried to tell me all he could.” “I been over the trail to Dodge twice,” Tex said, “and to Wyomin’ once. I’ll be needin’ a job.” “You’re hired,” Rafe said, “if I ever get the money to pay you. was “I’ll chance it,” Tex Brisco agreed. “I like the way you do things. was “Me for the goldfields in Nevada,” Rock said.
“That’s good for me,” Penn said. “If me and Rock don’t strike it rich we may come huntin’ a feed.” There was no trail through the tall grass but the one the mind could make, or the instinct of the cattle moving toward water. Yet as the long-legged zebra dun moved along the flank of the little herd, Rafe Caradec thought he was coming home. This was a land for a man to love, a long, beautiful land of rolling grass and trees, of towering mountains pushing their dark peaks against the sky, and the straight, slim beauty of lodgepole pines.