Chapter III.
THE PIRATES’ FIRST CRUISE.
“Go and put your hand in the holler of that log, Dave,” ordered Tom Pagdin.
“What you got planted there?” demanded Dave, suspiciously.
“Never you mind,” replied Tom, in a tone of overwhelming mystery, “You jist do it.”
“It ain’t a tree snake or a jumper ant’s nest, is it? You ain’t playin’ a lark on me?”
“Pirates don’t play larks on one another,” replied Tom. “If one pirate plays any larks on the other, the other pirates what the lark is played on challenge him to a duel.”
“What’s a duel?”
“A duel is like this!” explained Tom. “You take your pistol and I take my pistol, and we stand about ten yards away from one another, with our backs turned, and the referee sings out ‘Fire!’ and we both turn round and fire, and I kill you, and you wound me very bad in the sword arm, so’s I can’t use my sword for about a month. Then I get in the boat with the seconds, and leave you on the sand of the island dead—an’——”
“Tom Pagdin,” interrupted Dave, indignantly, “if you’re goin’ to play at any of them silly games, I’m not on. I don’t want to be left dead on the sand of no island with a pistol ’ole in me. I’d rather be whaled by the old man with a greenhide, I would!”
“Well, you are a cur,” exclaimed Tom. “I didn’t say I was goin’ to; I only said that’s what they did. Put your hand down the log and see what God’ll send you!”