Goles paid no attention to him.  “How long before we’ll be ashore now?” he asked.

“Only a few minutes now,” said Jan.  He was still standing with his back to Goles.

“A few minutes?” repeated Goles.  At the words his wife turned sharply.  Husband and wife stared at each other.

“There’s the sun coming over the sand-hill now,” said Jan.  She turned to look shoreward.

The bartender, counting and chuckling over his money, felt a hand shaking the tip of his sleeve.  It was the Finn woman.  She pointed a finger toward Goles.  The bartender saw Goles’s hand come out of his bosom with a revolver.

“So long as we’re safe,” said Goles slowly, “you’re going to get yours—­and get it now, you—­”

Jan was looking at the shore, but Mrs. Goles had turned with the first word and thrown herself toward Goles as he fired.  Mrs. Goles fell before the bullet.  “I was going to get her anyway,” said Goles evenly, and leveled his revolver at Jan, who had jumped to save her from falling overboard and was now holding her away from Goles.

“I got you where there’s no comeback!” gritted Goles, and took careful aim at Jan!—­but did not fire.  He felt a ring of cold metal pressed against his neck and half turned to see what it was.  “Don’t shoot!  Don’t!” he begged.

“You—­” The word the bartender gritted out could not be heard, because he pulled the trigger as he said it.

Goles sagged down until his knees rested on the deck.  Then he fell forward and over the side of the raft.  There was the gentlest of splashes, a patch of red—­a cluster of bubbles which burst like sighs.

“Well!” said the bartender, and held up the revolver in wonder.  “I never thought I’d live to kill a man!” He looked to see how the others had taken it, but they were paying no attention to him.  He saw Jan holding the baby and trying to hush its little cries for its mother, while the baby’s mother was pressing the tips of her fingers gently against the upper part of the injured woman’s right breast.

“You mustn’t die!  You mustn’t die!” Jan said when the baby would let him.

“I don’t want to die—­not now!” she answered.

The Finn woman looked up and smiled at Jan.  “Not die.  No, no—­not die.”

The raft grounded gently on the beach.  Jan took the wounded girl and set out for the top of the sand-hill with her.  The bartender took the baby and toiled behind with its mother.

“Say,” said the bartender, “you’re all right!  How many more children to home?”

“Home?” She held up seven fingers.  “And him,” pointing to the baby.

“Great Stork!  Here!” He set down the baby, drew out the bar-money and offered it to her.  “When a ship goes down, I heard a sea-lawyer say once, all debts go with her.  And that must mean all credits go too.  Anyhow we’ll make it so now.  Here—­for you.”

“Me?  No, no.  I have husband.  Fine job—­dollar-half day.”