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Updated: June 2, 2025
"An' it was a-workin' out as lovely as Billy-oh," he said, "till that syme underbred costermonger's swipe remembered he was Methody an' him who, only a few d'ys back, went raound s'yin' 'scrag the "Boomskys"! A couple o' thousand pounds gone as quick as look at it. Oh, I eyn't never goin' to git over this."
He was a black-bearded, scrawling six-footer, with a voice like a steam siren and a fist like a sledge. He carried two revolvers, spoke of the Russians at Point Barrow as the "Boomskys," and boasted if it came to that he'd engage to account for two of them, would shove their heads into their boot-legs and give them the running scrag, by God so he would!
Every fifth day Nickerson got drunk on the Company's Corean champagne. Now that the weather had sweetened, the Three Black Crows had less to do in the way of handling and nursing the schooner. Their plans when the "Boomskys" should be reached were rehearsed over and over again.
Certain of them spoke a macerated English, and through these Hardenberg, Ally Bazan and Nickerson Strokher remained on board to look after the schooner told to the "Boomskys" a lamentable tale of the reported wreck of a vessel, described by Hardenberg, with laborious precision, as a steam whaler from San Francisco the Tiber by name, bark-rigged, seven hundred tons burden, Captain Henry Ward Beecher, mate Mr.
S'y, I gotta to get drunk. S'y, what-all's the first jump in the bally game now?" "Well, the first thing, little man," observed Hardenberg, "is for your mother's son to hang the monkey onto the safety-valve. Keep y'r steam and watch y'r uncle." "Scrag the Boomskys," said Slick Dick encouragingly. Strokher pulled the left end of his viking mustache with the fingers of his right hand.
He learned how the "Boomskys" fell upon Ryder's champagne like wolves upon a wounded buck, how they drank it from "enameled-ware" coffee-cups, from tin dippers, from the bottles themselves; how at last they even dispensed with the tedium of removing the corks and knocked off the heads against the table-ledge and drank from the splintered bottoms; how they quarreled over the lees and dregs, how ever and always fresh supplies were forthcoming, and how at last Hardenberg, Ally Bazan and Slick Dick stood up from the table in the midst of the seven inert bodies; how they ransacked the place for the priceless furs; how they failed to locate them; how the conviction grew that this was the wrong place after all, and how at length Hardenberg discovered the trap-door that admitted to the cellar, where in the dim light of the uplifted lanterns they saw, corded in tiny bales and packages, the costliest furs known to commerce.
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