And is it
you or I is fighting this end of it? Is it?"--a subtle threat with his
left, one cunning feint of his right, one whip-like inboring of the left
hand, and up came the bosun all-standing.
"You're easy luffed," jeered Kieran. "A moment ago you were drawing like
a square-rigger before a quartering gale, and now you're shaking in the
wind--yes, and likely to be aback, if you don't watch out."
The teeth locked in the bosun's head--so hard a jolt for so smoothly
delivered a blow! He gazed amazed. Again a deceptive swing or two, a
fiddling with one hand and the other, a moment of rapid foot-work, a
quick side-step, and biff! Kieran's left went into the ribs--crack! and
Kieran's right caught him on the cheek-bone and laid it open as if hit
with a cleaver.
"Devil take it!" exploded Kieran, "I meant that for your jaw. It's this
slippery tarpaulin." He slid his foot back and forth on the black-tarred
canvas. "The cook's been dropping some of his slush on it, and you,
bosun, didn't see to it that it was cleaned. You ought to look after
those little things or the skipper'll be having you up to the bridge.
But, come now, just once more"--he curved his left forearm
persuasively--"once more and--"
But having caught the flame in the eye that never once looked away from
his, the bosun wanted no more of that long-range work. It must be close
quarters thereafter, or he foresaw disgrace.
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