“Oh, that’s it, eh?” said the Skeleton Chief. “I now find that all of you are brave.”

“I’m the bravest,” said Roger, very meekly; “on my word, I am!”

“You are, eh?”

“No, he isn’t,” said the coachman; “I am.”

“Oh, you are; then this footman must be a liar.”

“So he is,” said the coachman, “an awful liar; the biggest as ever lived!”

“Then we will begin with you two first, and give you a trial,” said the chief. “How do you best like to fight, with swords, or what? Daggers are the quickest to do the work with!”

“I’d prefer fists,” said the burly coachman.

“And what do you prefer my brave fellow?” asked the chief of Roger.

Roger much preferred to escape out of the mess altogether, but it could not be.

“Strip,” said the chief, “you’ve got a fair chance to settle; the one who gives in first shall be hung, and the conqueror shall have the choice of poison or a bullet if he refuses to join my crew. We only have well-tried men alive or dead on board the Phantom Ship.”

Neither Roger nor the coachman saw any very great choice in the terms offered, but ere many minutes they were pounding each other’s ribs in gallant style till the sounds of their own blows reached through the immense hall.

Both combatants fought for ten minutes fiercely and fast, and went at it like two blacksmiths.

At last, however, Roger began to blow like a grampus, and with a well-directed smack on the nose the burly coachman knocked him down.

“I give in,” gasped Roger.

“Bring the rope,” said the chief, calmly.

“No, I don’t; stop a bit,” said the footman. “D—n it! I’ll have a few more rounds; anything’s better than being scragged like a cat.”

At it they went again hammer and tongs, pounding each other, and puffing at a great rate.

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