He struggled up and strode away across the little valley between the stronghold of Colonel Ward and his own hillock.

Colonel Ward stood up when he saw him approaching, and Butts, after getting busy with something on the ground, stood up, also.  When the Cap’n got nearer he noted that Butts had his arms full of rocks.

“Dunk,” called Cap’n Sproul, placatingly, pausing at a hostile movement, “you’ve had quite a long yarn with that critter there, who’s been fillin’ you up with lies about me, and now it’s only fair that as an old shipmate you should listen to my side.  I—­”

“You bear off!” blustered Mr. Butts.  “You hold your own course, ’cause the minute you get under my bows I’ll give you a broadside that will put your colors down.  You’ve kicked me the last time you’re ever goin’ to.”

“I was thinkin’ it was a belayin’-pin that time aboard the Benn,” muttered the Cap’n.  “I guess I must have forgot and kicked him.”  Then once again he raised his voice in appeal.  “You’re the first seafarin’ man I know of that left your own kind to take sides with a land-pirut.”

“You ain’t seafarin’ no more,” retorted Mr. Butts, insolently.  “Talk to me of bein’ seafarin’ with that crowd of jays you’ve got round you!  You ain’t northin’ but moss-backs and bunko-men.”  Cap’n Sproul glanced over his shoulder at the men of Smyrna and groaned under his breath.  “I never knowed a seafarin’ man to grow to any good after he settled ashore.  Havin’ it in ye all the time, you’ve turned out a little worse than the others, that’s all.”

Mr. Butts continued on in this strain of insult, having the advantage of position and ammunition and the mind to square old scores.  And after a time Cap’n Sproul turned and trudged back across the valley.

There was such ferocity on his face when he sat down by his fire that Hiram Look gulped back the questions that were in his throat.  He recognized that it was a crisis, realized that Cap’n Sproul was autocrat, and refrained from irritating speech.

XXIV

By noon the sun shone on Cod Lead wanly between ragged clouds.  But its smile did not warm Cap’n Sproul’s feelings.  Weariness, rheumatism, resentment that became bitterer the more he pondered on the loss of the Dobson, and gnawing hunger combined to make a single sentiment of sullen fury; the spectacle of Colonel Ward busy with his schemes on the neighboring pinnacle sharpened his anger into something like ferocity.

The wind had died into fitful breaths.  The sea still beat furiously on the outer ledges of the island, but in the reach between the island and the distant main there was a living chance for a small boat.  It was not a chance that unskilful rowers would want to venture upon, but given the right crew the Cap’n reflected that he would be willing to try it.

Evidently Mr. Butts, being an able seaman, was reflecting upon something of the same sort.  The Portuguese sailors, the last one of the departing four dodging a kick launched at him by Mr. Butts, went down to the shore, pulled the abandoned dingy upon the sand, and emptied the water out of it.  They fished the oars out of the flotsam in the cove.  Then they sat down on the upturned boat, manifestly under orders and awaiting further commands.