"Couldn't have been Fenton then, for you know him when you see him, I'm sure. Benzeor, don't you think I'd better report the capture of my father to Captain Dennis and ask him if he won't send out a searching party?"
"No," said Benzeor slowly. "I don't think that will do any good."
"Why not? What else can I do?"
"Why, the fact is," said Benzeor, "I heard those men talking about your father, too."
"Did you?" said Peter eagerly, sitting up in his hammock as he spoke. He could not see his companion's face in the darkness, and perhaps it was as well for the troubled lad that he could not, for he would have seen little to comfort him expressed upon it.
"Yes, I heard 'em. There's no use in your reporting it to Captain Dennis or to any one else."
"Why not? Why not? They haven't shot him, have they?"
"No. He's been sent to New York."
Peter said no more. The thick darkness seemed like that within his own soul. All his efforts had been worse than useless, and the troubled boy knew not what next to do.