“I’m none too easy in my mind,” said my old skipper to me, as we stood together forward.
“Why not, Peterson?”
“It’s them two boys,” said he. “You talk of pirates—there’s the bloodiest pair of pirates as ever was. I hardly know whether my own life’s safe or not, to hear them talk.”
“Never do you mind, Peterson,” said I. “Those boys may be useful to us yet. The one with blue eyes has proved himself able to keep the ladies in their cabin, and as for the one who was going to run you through when we took the boat, he still may have to work to keep Williams down in the engine-room when we make our landing.”
“It may come out all right,” said the old man gloomily, “but sometimes I fear for the worst.”
“You always do, Peterson, and that is no frame of mind for a healthy pirate. But here we are below the railway warehouse district, and I think nearly opposite slip K, where we land. Port your helm, and run in slow. We’ve got to have gasoline, although I must say my two bullies took aboard quite a store up there at the Bayou.”
“Port it is, sir,” said Peterson gloomily, still smoking. And he made as neat a landing as ever in his life.
A shadowy form arose amidst the blackness of the dock and came directly forward to take our line.
“Who’s that?” I demanded. “Are you from Lavallier and Thibodeau?”
“Yes, M’sieu,” came the answer. “Those supply is here.”