“It’ll get them so nervous,” says he, “they’ll be careless.”
“And then what?”
“Then,” says Catty, “we can go ahead with our scouting.”
About that time the boss man came back talking loud language, and what he said was that he was going to stand guard himself for a while and find out what it was that frightened the daylights out of his men. We could see him light his pipe and stand leaning against a post.
“Wonder if he’ll scare?” says I.
“Wait a minute, and we’ll find out,” says Catty.
When he thought it was time, he gave me the word to moan, and this time I really moaned. I’d had practice, and this one was mighty near perfect. I don’t believe I could do better if I was to live a hundred years.
I’ll bet it was a shivery sound in the dark there, especially after four other men had been frightened almost out of their shirts. Of course we couldn’t see exactly what the boss man did, but I’ll bet he almost bit his Adam’s apple.
“Who’s there?” says he, and his voice didn’t sound so harsh and bossy as it did.
Catty held his hand over his mouth so his voice would sound hollow and funny, and then he kind of sang, “Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest.” Like that. And then he says, “Pieces-of-eight.... Pieces-of-eight....” like the parrot in Treasure Island.