"'All in my line,' I answered jauntily, having fixed my plan; 'I'm starving amongst these cursed cut-throats here, and I'm ready for anything.'
"'Starving, are you! Then blarm me if you shan't earn your supper. D'y'see that four feet of bullock's fat and nigger working at them iron pins in the far corner?'—he pointed to a thick-set, dark and burly seaman working in the way he had described—'go and stick yer knife in him, and I'm good for a bottle—two, if you like, you darned little shootin' rat of a man'; and he clutched me with his great paw and shook me until my teeth chattered again. But his look was full of meaning, and I believe that he wished every word that he said.
"'Stick your knife into the man yourself,' I replied, when I was free of him, 'you great Yankee lubber—for another word I'd give you a taste of mine now.'
"He looked at me as I stood making this poor mock of a threat, and laughed till he rang up the hill-sides. Then he said—
"'You're my sort; I reckon I know your flag. Out with it, and we'll pour liquor on it, I guess; for there ain't no foolin' you—no, by thunder! You're just a daisy of a man, you are; so come along and let the nigger be. As for hurtin' of 'im—why, so help me blazes, he's my pard, he is, and I love him like my own little brother what died of lead-poisonin' down Sint Louis way. You come
