'Whoever you name for the shortest stick'll die,' the captain said.
Sullivan held up one of the sticks. The rest were concealed in his hand so that no one could see whether it was the short stick or not.
'An' whose stick will it be?' Sullivan demanded.
'For little Johnny Sheehan,' O'Brien answered.
Sullivan laid the stick aside. Those who looked could not tell if it were the fatal one. Sullivan held up another stick.
'Whose will it be?'
'For George Burns,' was the reply.
The stick was laid with the first one, and a third held up.
'An' whose is this wan?'
'For myself,' said O'Brien.
With a quick movement, Sullivan threw the four sticks together. No one had seen.
''Tis for yourself ye've drawn it,' Sullivan announced.
'A good deed,' several of the men muttered.
O'Brien was very quiet. He arose to his feet, took the bandage off, and looked around.
'Where is ut?' he demanded. 'The short stick? The wan for me?'
The captain pointed to the four sticks lying on the deck.
'How do you know the stick was mine?' O'Brien questioned. 'Did you see ut, Johnny Sheehan?'
Johnny Sheehan, who was the youngest of the boys, did not answer.
'Did you see ut?' O'Brien next asked Mahoney.
'No, I didn't see ut.'
The men were muttering and growling.
''Twas a fair drawin',' Sullivan said. 'Ye had yer chanct an' ye lost, that's all iv ut.'
'A fair drawin',' the captain added. 'Didn't I behold it myself? The stick was yours, O'Brien, an' ye may as well get ready. Where's the cook? Gorman, come here. Fetch the tureen cover, some of ye. Gorman, do your duty like a man.'
'But how'll I do it,' the cook demanded. He was a weak-eyed, weak-chinned, indecisive man.
''Tis a damned murder!' O'Brien cried out.
'I'll have none of ut,' Mahoney announced. 'Not a bite shall pass me lips.'
'Then 'tis yer share for better men than yerself,' Sullivan sneered. 'Go on with yer duty, cook.'
''Tis not me duty, the killin' of b'ys,' Gorman protested irresolutely.
'If yez don't make mate for us, we'll be makin' mate of yerself,' Behane threatened. 'Somebody must die, an' as well you as another.'
Johnny Sheehan began to cry. O'Brien listened anxiously. His face was pale. His lips trembled, and at times his whole body shook.
'I signed on as cook,' Gorman enounced. 'An' cook I wud if galley there was. But I'll not lay me hand to murder. 'Tis not in the articles. I'm the cook-'
'An' cook ye'll be for wan minute more only,' Sullivan said grimly, at the same moment gripping the cook's head from behind and bending it back till the windpipe and jugular were stretched taut. 'Where's yer knife, Mike? Pass it along.'
At the touch of the steel, Gorman whimpered.
'I'll do ut, if yez'll hold the b'y.'
The pitiable condition of the cook seemed in some fashion to nerve up O'Brien.
'It's all right, Gorman,' he said. 'Go on with ut. 'Tis meself knows yer not wantin' to do ut. It's all right, sir'- this to the captain, who had laid a hand heavily on his arm. 'Ye won't have to hold me, sir. I'll stand still.'
'Stop yer blitherin', an' go an' get the tureen cover,' Behane commanded Johnny Sheehan, at the same time dealing him a heavy cuff alongside the head.
The boy, who was scarcely more than a child, fetched the cover. He crawled and tottered along the deck, so weak was he from hunger. The tears still ran down his cheeks. Behane took the cover from him, at the same time administering another cuff.
O'Brien took off his coat and bared his right arm. His under lip still trembled, but he held a tight grip on himself. The captain's penknife was opened and passed to Gorman.
'Mahoney, tell me mother what happened to me, if ever ye get back,' O'Brien requested.
Mahoney nodded.
''Tis black murder, black an' damned,' he said. 'The b'y's flesh'll do none iv yez anny good. Mark me words. Ye'll not profit by it, none iv yez.'
'Get ready,' the captain ordered. 'You, Sullivan, hold the cover-that's it-close up. Spill nothing. It's precious stuff.'
Gorman made an effort. The knife was dull. He was weak. Besides, his hand was shaking so violently that he nearly dropped the knife. The three boys were crouched apart, in a huddle, crying and sobbing. With the exception of Mahoney, the men were gathered about the victim, craning their necks to see.
'Be a man, Gorman,' the captain cautioned.
The wretched cook was seized with a spasm of resolution, sawing back and forth with the blade on O'Brien's wrist. The veins were severed. Sullivan held the tureen cover close underneath. The cut veins gaped wide, but no ruddy flood gushed forth. There was no blood at all. The veins were dry and empty. No one spoke. The grim and silent figures swayed in unison with each heave of the ship. Every eye was turned fixedly upon that inconceivable and monstrous thing, the dry veins of a creature that was alive.
''Tis a warnin',' Mahoney cried. 'Lave the b'y alone. Mark me words. His death'll do none iv yez anny good.'
'Try at the elbow-the left elbow, 'tis nearer the heart,' the captain said finally, in a dim and husky voice that was unlike his own.
'Give me the knife,' O'Brien said roughly, taking it out of the cook's hand. 'I can't be lookin' at ye puttin' me to hurt.'
Quite coolly he cut the vein at the left elbow, but, like the cook, he failed to bring blood.
'This is all iv no use,' Sullivan said. ''Tis better to put him out iv his misery by bleedin' him at the throat.'
The strain had been too much for the lad.
'Don't be doin' ut,' he cried. 'There'll be no blood in me throat. Give me a little time. 'Tis cold an' weak I am. Be lettin' me lay down an' slape a bit. Then I'll be warm an' the blood'll flow.'
''Tis no use,' Sullivan objected. 'As if ye cud be slapin' at a time like this. Ye'll not slape, and ye'll not warm up. Look at ye now. You've an ague.'
'I was sick at Limerick wan night,' O'Brien hurried on, 'an' the dochtor cudn't bleed me. But after slapin' a few hours an' gettin' warm in bed the blood came freely. It's God's truth I'm tellin' yez. Don't be murderin' me!'
'His veins are open now,' the captain said. ''Tis no use leavin' him in his pain. Do it now an' be done with it.'
They started to reach for O'Brien, but he backed away.
'I'll be the death iv yez!' he screamed. 'Take yer hands off iv me, Sullivan! I'll come back! I'll haunt yez! Wakin' or slapin', I'll haunt yez till you die!'
''Tis disgraceful!' yelled Behane. 'If the short stick'd ben mine, I'd a-let me mates cut the head off iv me an' died happy.'
Sullivan leaped in and caught the unhappy lad by the hair. The rest of the men followed, O'Brien kicked and struggled, snarling and snapping at the hands that clutched him from every side. Little Johnny Sheehan broke out into wild screaming, but the men took no notice of him. O'Brien was bent backward to the deck, the tureen cover under his neck. Gorman was shoved forward. Some one had thrust a large sheath-knife into his hand.
'Do yer duty! Do yer duty!' the men cried.
The cook bent over, but he caught the boy's eyes and faltered.
'If ye don't, I'll kill ye with me own hands,' Behane shouted.
