for Duran! They're making a tool of you and your ship!"
"That shows who's making a tool of you!" cried McKinnon, pointing with his lean and shaking finger to the shattered responder. The ship captain's face was blotched and purplish and horrible to look at by this time.
"And he's killed our wireless?"
"Look at it," answered McKinnon.
For the second time Captain Yandel looked. The indignity, the enormity of the thing threw him into a slowly growing ecstasy of sublimated rage.
"And who fired that shot?" he demanded, with an almost voluptuous delight in the anticipation of further fuel for a still more towering fire.
"I did," said the white-faced woman.
"So you did," purred the captain, slowly releasing the torrent. "And you're a nice pair, the two of you, makin' a pot-house of my ship! You half-breed filibusters! You garlic-eating outlaws! You murderin', slave-drivin' tinhorn conspirators!"
"Stop!" cried McKinnon.
"Get out o' here, you flimflam beachcombers!" roared on the unheeding officer.
"Get out o' my sight! Get down to your cabins and stay there until you're put ashore
