"Very well," Ned replied, coolly, "take me back to Manila for trial. I am willing to go with you."
"We don't take pirates back to Manila for trial," was the sneering reply. "We give them a hearing and shoot them down on the spot. I'll attend to your case directly."
"You've got your nerve!" cried Frank.
The Lieutenant turned with a snarl and pointed the end of his pencil toward the two boys.
"Put them in irons," he said. "We'll give them a drum-head when we get the goods out of the Clara and will shoot them at midnight."
The boys made no resistance. That would have been useless, for there were twenty to one against them.
"And," continued the officer, "send for the relatives of the natives this man Nestor murdered on Banta Isle. We'll have them for witnesses."
"They attacked me," Ned said, in a second sorry that he had spoken at all.
"They were ordered to recover the Manhattan, property stolen from the government," was the reply, "and you resisted them. Put a stick in his mouth, Ben, if he talks any more."
Ben, a muscular, scar-faced fellow of thirty, stepped forward and took a seat on the rock near the captives. He had the mild, soft eyes of a student of theology and the square jaw and hard hands of a prize fighter.