Even in their bare feet it would be difficult to keep upright, for the _Mary Rogers_ was rollicking through a choppy sea.

Harrigan sensed the crew standing in a loose circle with the hunger of the wolf pack in winter stamped in their eyes.
McTee stood with his feet braced strongly, his hands poised.

But Harrigan stole about him with a gliding, unequal step.

He did not seem preparing to strike with his hands, which hung low, but rather like one who would leap at the throat with his teeth.

The ship heaved and Harrigan sprang and his fists cracked--one, two.