The front end
of the cabin was ornamented with a couple of rifles and a shot-gun,
while exposed by the rolled-back blankets of French Pete's bunk was a
cartridge-lined belt carrying a brace of revolvers.
It all seemed like a dream to Joe. Countless times he had imagined scenes
somewhat similar to this; but here he was right in the midst of it, and
already it seemed as though he had known his two companions for years.
French Pete was smiling genially at him across the board. It really was a
villainous countenance, but to Joe it seemed only weather-beaten. 'Frisco
Kid was describing to him, between mouthfuls, the last sou'easter the
_Dazzler_ had weathered, and Joe experienced an increasing awe for this
boy who had lived so long upon the water and knew so much about it.
The captain, however, drank a glass of wine, and topped it off with a
second and a third, and then, a vicious flush lighting his swarthy face,
stretched out on top of his blankets, where he soon was snoring loudly.
"Better turn in and get a couple of hours' sleep," 'Frisco Kid said
kindly, pointing Joe's bunk out to him. "We 'll most likely be up the
rest of the night."
Joe obeyed, but he could not fall asleep so readily as the others. He
lay with his eyes wide open, watching the hands of the alarm-clock that
hung in the cabin, and thinking how quickly event had followed event in
the last twelve hours.
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