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"Where's Madge?" said Gregory. "Mrs. Horble's ashore," said the captain. "I'm afraid I can never call her anything but Madge," said Gregory, detecting the covert reproach in the other's voice. Horble was plainly ill at ease. His face turned a deeper red. He was on the edge of blurting out a disagreeable remark, and then hesitated, making an inarticulate sound in his throat.
Horble was panting like a steam engine; his lower jaw hung open, and he cried as he fought, the tears streaking his red face; there was an agonized light in his eyes, for his forefinger was breaking in the trigger guard.
"What's twenty tons between the two of us?" "And cooks?" said Gregory. "And cooks," said Horble. "You don't believe in lapping your wife in luxury!" exclaimed Gregory. "Madge and I talked it over," said Horble. "I was for trading ashore, but her heart was set on the schooner. I can make twice the money this way and please her in the bargain."
Like everybody else, he was afraid of the labor captain. "Crew's ashore, too," said Gregory, glancing about the empty deck. "There ain't no crew," muttered Horble. "Thunder!" cried Gregory. "Do you do it with electricity, or what?" "Me and Madge runs her," returned Horble. "Do you mean to say she pully-hauls your damn ropes?" exclaimed Gregory. "Yes," said Horble.
He slipped down the little companion way, looked about the empty cabin and peered into the semi-darkness of the only stateroom. "Madge!" he cried. "Madge!" Horble had not lied to him. There was not a soul below. But on the cabin table he saw Madge's sewing machine and a half-made dress of cotton print.
"And you've the gall to say that on my ship, at my table, about my wife!" exclaimed Horble, punctuating the sentence with the possessive. "Yes," said Gregory. Horble sat awhile silent. He was obviously turning the matter over in his head. He said at last he would go on deck and take another look to windward. "There's a power of dirt to windward!" he said.
"You can't sell white women," said Horble. "She ain't labor." "A thousand pounds!" repeated Gregory. "I won't sell my wife to no man," said Horble. The pair looked at each other. Horble's hand felt for the gin again. His speech had grown a little thick. He was angry and flustered, and a dull resentment was mantling his heavy face. "I'll go the schooner," cried Gregory.
Gregory, suffocating, his eyes starting from their sockets, his mouth dribbling blood and froth, struggled with supreme desperation for the pistol. Getting it in the very nick of time, and eluding Horble's right hand, he fired twice through the armpit down. Horble sank at the first shot, and received the second kneeling.
Small at a distance, she seemed to shrink as he drew near her, so that when he stood up he was surprised to find his head above the rail. So this was Horble, this coarse, red-faced trader, with the pug nose, the fat hands, the faded blue eyes that met his own so sourly! "Captain Horble?" said Gregory Cole. "Glad to see you aboard," said Horble. They shook hands and sat side by side on the rail.
"Joe Horble," said Gregory, leaning both elbows on the table, "there's something you ought to know: I love Madge, and Madge loves me!" Horble gasped. "She's mine!" said Gregory. Horble helped himself to some more gin, and then slowly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're forgetting she's my wife," he said. "I'll give you a thousand pounds for her, cash and bills," said Gregory.
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