“You done it once, I guess,” replied Hanna. “Hush!” as the pirate uttered a loud oath of denial.
The talk sank again; and then the motor boat throbbed away into silence. Hanna was gone; but the pirates talked long among themselves, while the river fog drifted ghost-white over the boat. From time to time some one came and looked at him through the misty doorway.
He had never known the river men so excited; he would not have thought it possible for them to have had so much conversation. He guessed what they were discussing. From moment to moment he almost expected the attack, the shot, or a crushing club stroke. He was tied, helpless as a sheep.
“If we-all do this hyar job,” he heard Bob say, “we gotter git cl’ar offn the Alabama fer good. We kin sell the boat in Mobile, an’ go——”
Some one interrupted indistinctly. Bob swore and insisted.
“All same, Bob, this yere’s a heap safer’n that other time, an’ you got outer that all right,” another voice drawled.
“Outer what?” Bob snarled savagely. “Outer nothin’. Jackson Power knows he done it—thinks so, anyways. Mebbe he did. Everybody was lettin’ off their pistols at once, an’——”
“Shucks, Bob. He was shot with an autymatic, an’ nobody hadn’t no autymatic that night but you.”
“Ef you says I done it, I’ll cut your liver out!” Bob threatened. “I tell you it shore was young Jack Power.”
“Well, jest so long’s he thinks so! Shet up, Bob! We’ve got to touch up young Jackson again, anyways.”