to meet our sanguinary friend, the mate, in a finish fight as soon as we lose sight of land!"
"'At mate sure loves to get bruised, don't he?" remarks Ptomaine, wonderin'ly. "Well, he's just a twopuncho kayo for either you or me, Kid! 'At's the least of it. What happens after you put him away?"
Kid Roberts simply shrugs his big shoulders.
"I must refer you to our hosts," he says, noddin' to our two scowlin' wardens.
Ptomaine glowers at 'em.
"Hey—where's this scow headed for?" he asks one.
"China!" is the grunted answer. "Keep yer mouth shut!"
Speechless with rage, I could only start a one-man discussion of their ancestors, whilst with a low moan, Ptomaine fell back on the floor again. Kid Roberts looks at us and laughs his head off!
Threats of the law had the same effect on our guards as they would on a couple of mummies. They just grinned and regaled us with stories about the mate's fluency as a fighter—he was more than a fighter, he was a killer, accordin' to them. Well, the Kid's right uppercut has took the ambition out of manys the killer—in the ring and out of it—so none of us fainted with fear of what the mate would do to him. What we all was worried about, though, was Angela Yerkes. Questions about her brung nothin', but blank looks and Kid Roberts whispered to us to keep quiet, as maybe the girl had managed to hide herself somewheres aboard and they mightn't even know she was there yet.
