Softly, she began, feeling the man's bunk, searching the drawers of his small cabinet. A compass, a Bible, a small, much-worn booklet on navigation, a sewing kit... nothing more.
"Lila," I said, "the pillow."
She looked. Pillows were a not often thing aboard ship, but this man loved his comfort, slight as it was, and he had a pillow, a soft, downy pillow with a faint, fishy smell. Gull feathers, no doubt, and made by himself.
She looked under it, but I shook my head and made a move to indicate holding it over her face. Lila got the idea at once and took up the pillow, placing it on the small stand near her.
Jeremy Ring was a quick-thinking and shrewd young man, and I was guessing he would at once surmise something wrong when he saw the boat returning without us.
Truly, my life and those of my family and Lila were in his hands. His, and those of Tom Watkins.
Yet I had no wish to trust to any man when so much was at stake, and there was every chance we might ourselves do something. I liked not the look of the man Oldfast Wilson.
Well, I'd two shots. If the worst came for it, he would get the first one. If we could get a guard to open the door, and I could distract his attention, then Lila and her pillow might well do the rest.
If a man or woman is inclined to murder or violence, owning a gun is not important. There are always a dozen things about with which a man can be killed.
For myself, I'd no wish for any of it. I'd been controlling my temper better these days, with hopes I might someday conquer it altogether. For I'd always been inclined to go into fierce although not unreasoning rage. It was a serious fault, and I'd worked hard at controlling myself, for giving away to anger is a weakness in a man.
We heard no sound except those made by the ship herself, and occasional movements above deck. Abby clutched my hand. "Barney," she whispered, "what will happen?"
"Trust to Jeremy," I suggested. "If there's a fight we've some likely lads ashore there, and if they fail, then we've to do something ourselves."
Waiting was a hard thing. Abby put little Kin down on the bunk, and he seemed happy enough, unaware of what was taking place.
A long time passed, and then we heard steps upon the deck outside, and the door was opened. It was Joshua, and he held a pistol in his hand. "Cap'n Wilson wants to know how far they had to go? They've been a long time aboot it."
"Well," I edged to the side of the door away from Lila, "they'd to cross the bank, y' know. 'Tis maybe a mile, but walking in deep sand is slow. Going and coming, that's two mile. They'd to unload the furs from the boat and carry them across. Six bales, and each bale a load for two men, I'd say."
Deliberately I put my shoulder against the door so he had to turn to face me and turn his shoulder to Lila. The pistol was aimed right at me, and at such range he could not miss. Lila was hesitating, and I said, suddenly, "Whatever they do, they'd best do it!"
I snapped the last words and slapped the pistol barrel with my right hand just as Lila clapped the pillow over his face. Yet all did not go as I hoped.
Slapping the pistol barrel, my hand did not make firm contact, knocking it only slightly aside. And as Lila clapped the pillow over Joshua's face she jerked him back, off balance. The gun blasted and something stung my cheek and brow, and then Lila was holding Joshua tight and I had wrested the gun from him.
There was a pounding of feet on the deck as someone came running, but I stepped over Joshua. Abby caught Kin up and followed, and we made for the deck. Lila dropped Joshua, now unconscious or dead, but she did not neglect to strip him of the now empty pistol and his cutlass, and well I recalled that with a cutlass she was not one with whom to trifle.
Abby turned swiftly toward the door of the main cabin at the end of the passage and opened it. I was facing the opposite way, toward the deck. A man lunged into the opening, a bare blade in hand, and thrust hard at me.
The door was narrow, and as he thrust, I fired. The bullet took him in the chest and smashed him to a dead stop. Then his eyes seemed to glaze over and he fell toward me. I thrust the empty pistol in my belt and caught up the cutlass and went through the door to the deck.
Facing me were a dozen men, and not one of them was Wilson. I'd the cutlass and one shot. Lola came up beside me, with her own cutlass.
"Drop it!" He was a burly, black-bearded fellow with a bend in his nose. "You'll get nowhere with this!"
There are times to fight and times to talk. The two of us might account for three or four of them before they had us, but behind us were Abby and Kin.
"Joshua," I said, "is dead. By this time your crew are dead or prisoners. I've two dozen men ashore there, and more than a hundred Indians. Put a boat in the water, and we'll go. Try to keep us and we'll leave you for the Indians."
"Captain?" The big black-bearded man called out. "Captain Wilson?"
He was looking over my shoulder. Fear went over me like a dash of icy water on a wild night at sea. Wilson had been behind us, in the main cabin!
I stood fast, but I was frightened. Abby was back there, Abby and Kin. They were behind me, and Wilson behind them, yet if I turned to look, we all were lost.
"There's no use to call him," I said. "Get the boat in the water if you wish to live, and-" I added-"if any of you wish to cross the blades with Lila, be advised she's stronger than any two of you, and better with her blade than any four-"
"Five," Lila said coolly. "I've marked that many for my own. Do you take the rest."
It is not good for a man to think too long if he must act, and too many ideas had been thrown at them, each causing doubt and hesitation.
Joshua dead ... where was Captain Wilson? Indians ashore, the boat crew possibly captured or dead, two blades and a pistol facing them-and at such range where at least one man must die before blades could be crossed.
They hesitated, and in so doing lost their advantage.
Quickly I stepped forward, Lila beside me, and they backed up, warily. There was no command, each waited for the other to act, and still no word from the cabin behind us.
Torn with fear, I dared not look around or lose my slight advantage. What was happening ashore I knew not, nor where stood Abby with my child.
Suddenly there was a shout and a crash behind me, a boat bumped the ship's side, and the men before me, half started forward at the shout from the cabin, half turned toward the ship's side.
Holding my fire, I thrust quickly at the nearest man. He tried to parry the blow, but his reaction time was too slow although he partly parried it. The point of my blade, and a good six inches of it, went into his thigh. Withdrawing quickly, I cut sidewise at a second man, who leaped back and tripped over a third.
Suddenly men were swarming over the side, and the first over, sword in hand, was Jeremy Ring. None of the ship's crew were armed with pistols, as was natural, and all of my men were.
There was a scream behind me and, wheeling, I leaped into the passage and in two steps was at the door of the main cabin. It stood open and beyond the table stood Abby, holding Kin. Her face was very white, her eyes wide and cool, and she was facing Oldfast Wilson.
His face glistened with sweat, his shirt was wet, and there was a smell of brandy in the room.
"I'll kill you, you-!"
My pistol I had thrust into my waistband, and my point was low. I was deceived by the man's huge size, and never suspected the quickness with which he moved.
He turned like a cat and struck out hard with the telescope he clutched in his hand.
The blow caught me across the knuckles and my cutlass went to the floor. He leaped at me, and my reaction was the instinctive one of a man with a knowledge of fisticuffs. I struck, left and right, into his face.