A Man to His Mate (Action Thriller). J. Allan Dunn

it off with six more shells apiece, and Deming consented.

      "Can't be done," declared Carlsen. "Not right now, anyway. I gave out the last shell there was in the magazine. If there are any more the skipper's got them stowed away, and I can't disturb him."

      "Derned funny," said Deming, "a sealer shy on cartridges! Lucky we ain't worryin' about thet sort of a cargo."

      "Probably plenty aboard somewhere," said Carlsen, "but I don't know where they are. Sorry to break up the shooting. You boys have got me beaten on rifles and shotguns," he went on, producing from his hip pocket a flat, effective-looking automatic pistol of heavy caliber. "How are you on small arms?"

      The hunters shook their heads dubiously.

      "Never use 'em," said Deming. "Never could do much with that kind, ennyhow. Give me a revolver, an' I might make out to hit a whale, if he was close enough, but not with one o' them."

      "Not much difference," said, Carlsen. "Any of you got revolvers?"

      No one spoke. It was against the unwritten laws of a vessel for pistols to be owned forward of the main cabin. Beale finally answered for the rest.

      "Nary a pistol, sir."

      "Then," said Carlsen, "I'll give you an exhibition myself. Any bottles left? Beale, will you toss them for me?"

      There were eight shots in the automatic, and Carlsen smashed seven bottles in mid-air. He missed the last, but retrieved himself by breaking it as it dipped in the wake. The hunters shouted their appreciation.

      "Break all of 'em?" Lund asked Rainey. "Enny bottles left at all?"

      He walked toward the taffrail, addressing Carlsen.

      "Kin you shoot by sound as well as by sight, Doc?" he challenged.

      "I fancy not," said Carlsen.

      "If I had my eyes I'd snapshoot ye for a hundred bucks," said Lund. "As it is, I might target one or two. Rainey, have some one run a line, head-high, an' fix a bottle on it, will ye? I ain't got a gun o' my own, Doc," he continued, "will you lend me yours?" Carlsen filled his clip and Lund turned toward Rainey, who was rigging the target.

      "I'll want you to tap it with a stick," he said. "Signal-flag staff'll do fine."

      Rainey got the slender bamboo and stood by. Lund felt for the cord, passed his fingers over the suspended bottle and stepped off five paces, hefting the automatic to judge its balance.

      "Ruther have my own gun," he muttered. "All right, tetch her up, Rainey."

      Rainey tapped the bottle on the neck and it gave out a little tinkle, lost immediately in the crash of splintering glass as the bottle, hit fairly in the torn label, broke in half.

      "How much left?" asked Lund. "Half? Tetch it up."

      Again he fired and again the bullet found the mark, leaving only the neck of the bottle still hanging. Lund grinned.

      "Thet's all," he said. "Jest wanted to show ye what a blind man can do, if he's put to it."

      There was little applause. Carlsen took his gun in silence and moved forward with the hunters and the onlookers, disappearing below. Rainey took the wheel over from Hansen and ordered him forward again.

      "Given 'em something to talk about," chuckled Lund. "Carlsen wanted to show off his fancy shootin'. Wal, I've shown 'em I ain't entirely wrecked if I ain't carryin' lights. An' I slipped more'n one over on Carlsen at that."

      Rainey did not catch his entire meaning and said nothing.

      "Did you get wise to the play about the shells?" asked Lund. "A smart trick, though Deming almost tumbled. Carlsen got those dumb fools of hunters to fire away every shell they happened to have for'ard. If the magazine's empty, I'll bet Carlsen knows where they's plenty more shells, if we ever needed 'em bad. But now those rifles an' shotguns ain't no more use than so many clubs — not to the hunters. An' he's found out they ain't got enny pistols. He's got one, an' shows 'em how straight he shoots, jest in case there should be enny trubble between 'em. Plays both ends to the middle, does Carlsen. Slick! But he ain't won the pot. They's a joker in this game. Mebbe he holds it, mebbe not."

      He nodded mysteriously, well pleased with himself.

      "Don't suppose you brought a gun along with ye?" he asked Rainey. "Might come in handy."

      "I wasn't expecting to stay," Rainey replied dryly, "or I might have."

      Lund laughed heartily, slapping his leg.

      "That's a good un," he declared. "It would have bin a good idea, though. It sure pays to go heeled when you travel with strangers."