“I’d trust that lad to take my ship through any channel in Orkney,” added Captain Gordon.  “He brought us through on Sunday, and I never saw a pilot—­except his father—­handle a ship with greater skill.”

Mr. Gordon was speaking thus in my praise, when who should walk into the inn but Carver Kinlay himself.

Carver had on a new suit of clothes of blue cloth, and his high boots, reaching above the knees, were newly polished with oil.  At his waist he wore a leather belt from which was suspended a long sheath knife.  He walked in with a jaunty air of self importance, but with a slightly unsteady gait, which showed how he had been celebrating his appointment.  He approached Captain Wemyss, and addressed him.

“Ye’ll be weighing anchor on Monday morning, captain, I suppose?  What time shall I come aboard?”

“I never asked you to come aboard my ship, my man,” said Captain Wemyss.  “What is it you want?”

“Why, d’ye not know I’m the pilot?”

Captain Abernethy interrupted him, and drew him round by the shoulder to face the company, saying: 

“You’d not be the pilot if you hadna gotten the post by your crafty, sneaking, murderous villainy, Carver Kinlay.  What business had you putting out to the Lydia on Sunday?”

“What business is that of yours?” was the response.

“Every one has business in a case like this,” said Abernethy, “and I’ll wager a thousand pounds if you hadn’t gone out the accident wouldn’t have happened.  It was nothing else than the fear that you’d get aboard before them that made the men think of boarding the barque in such a hurry, and so far out.  I knew the men well, poor fellows, and they were all decent men and good pilots, every one of them.”

While Abernethy was saying this, Kinlay was venting a torrent of oaths and words in disparagement of my father and his men.

“You villain! you rascal!” continued the skipper, “if you say another word against Sandy Ericson I’ll pitch you out at the window!”

At the same time Bailie Duke stepped forward and said: 

“Now just hold your filthy tongue, Kinlay.  You’ve been trying for years to do what you’ve done now.  You’ve gotten your wish; what more do you want?”

The bailie succeeded in quieting him, and Carver slunk off to a corner of the room.  The company, after this interruption, dispersed, leaving only Captain Gordon, Kinlay, Captain Miller, and myself.

No further words had been exchanged before a stalwart fisherman entered.  I immediately recognized Jack Paterson.  Jack was, as I have before said, a powerful man.  He came in with a firm resolution in his step, and looked around the room.  We watched him closely, for there was something strange in his look.

On seeing Kinlay he walked straight up to him, laid a big hand on his shoulder—­the hand that wanted a finger—­and, without a word, dragged him to the middle of the room.  Kinlay turned quickly round, and putting his hand on his sheath knife drew the weapon.  Without hesitation Paterson stepped forward and dealt a tremendous blow with his fist on Carver’s nose.