George shook his head. Dan regarded Tom with an air of attention, almost of respect. With returning perception he saw that there was something important behind all this—that some mystery was going to be cleared up, and instinctively he connected the group before him with the bank robbery—the murder, perhaps.
“No,” said Dan, humouring the boy, “neither of us carry Testaments about with us when we go shooting. Couldn’t you swear on something else?”
“Yes,” said Tom, after a moment’s thought. “We might swear on a knife. Gimme that sheath knife.”
Tom took the knife in one hand and held the rifle towards Petit with the other.
“It’s a private oath,” he exclaimed. “Come here an’ swear on it Dave; we got to before we can break the other oath we took up the river.”
Tom solemnly turned the haft of the knife to Dave’s heart and swore him to tell the truth, and then Dave did the same thing to Tom, repeating the elaborate oath which they had concocted on the island after the murder.
“Now,” said the pirate captain, aiming steadily at the convict all the time he was talking, “you begin at the beginning, Dave, and I’ll back you up.”
“It’s this way,” began Dave, keeping a wary eye on Petit, and looking now and then at his mate to see if he was going right. “Me an’ Tom run away from home because we got whaled. We reckoned to do a bit o’ piratin’ down the river—piratin’ and odd jobs that turned up. We found a boat, Tom, he was captain, an’ I was first mate.”
“I found ’er floating up the Broadstream one mornin’,” explained Tom. “She’s hid in the lantana now. He took her away from us and hid her. You kin go an’ see her if you don’t believe us.”
“Go on,” said Dan, picking up his gun and re-loading it. “We’ll see all about everything afterwards.”