He, like the rest of us, ignored the blind man. Our attention was fixed upon Silver, his broad face very calm in the moonlight.
"Them there ain't exackly tempting terms, Cap'n Murray, sir," Silver answered temperately. "Couldn't ye be a mite more generous?"
"I am serving you a dish no more highly sauced than that you intended for me," returned my great-uncle dryly.
"Now, sir; now, sir," remonstrated Silver. "How can ye say that? All we done was to try and persuade ye to give us our share o' the treasure—you havin' eight hundred thousand pound stowed away special, accordin' to your own story. And if we come in by the back door a'ter it, why that was so's we'd hurt ye least."
"You'd argue yourself to a block of ice in Hell, Silver," rejoined my great-uncle amusedly. "Throw down that crutch! Drop that knife, you, sirrah, Pew—or whatever your name is!"
Sword in hand, he advanced ahead of the rest of us, who were strung out all the way from the gap in the stockade. Coupeau was at his elbow, and Peter and I close behind.
"Come," he adjured them a second time. "I'm in no mood to talk terms, and if you delay 'twill make your end the more painful."
Silver's face went livid in the moonlight.
"Aye," rasped the one-legged man, "ye'll lash us bloody-raw like the lads as let us in tonight."
And as Murray continued to advance, he struck out with his crutch.