There were stirrings and snappings in the brambles. That plaguy fox again, thought Uncle Billy—or else rabbits. His fingers were numb now. He put the Bess down beside him, blew on his hands, thrust them well down in his pockets and snuggled back against the rock. The lugger would slip moorings soon whether she had unloaded or not, and then toddy, scalding his throat, trickling down to his . . .
Something heavy dropped on him from the top of the rock, knocking him sideways, away from the gun, pinning him to the ground; hands, big and strong as brass, took him round the throat, drove cruel thumbs into his jugular, strangling him.
“Got him, Joe,” said a voice. “Bring rope and gag quick!” He got no hot toddy that night.
3
“That the lot?” the lugger captain bellowed.
“Aye,” answered his mate.
“Cast off that shore boat then and let go forward soon’s she’m clear.”
“Aye, aye. Pull clear, you; look lively!”
The Gamecock’s crew jerked their oars into the pins and dragged the gig out of harm’s way.
The moorings buoy splashed overboard, the lugger, her mainsail backed, came round before the wind and was gone.