“He would attack,” said Bart, heavily. “He’d had such luck that he wouldn’t believe he could be beat.”
“He was right,” said the other, fiercely. “He is not beaten, for we will fetch him out, and he shall pay them bitterly for all this.”
The speaker strode forward, and went below into the cabin, while Bart drew his breath hard as he rose from where he had been seated and limped, slightly bending down once to press his leg where a severe flesh-wound was received on the night of the engagement when Abel Dell—whose name had begun to be well-known for freebooting enterprise as Commodore Junk—had been taken prisoner.
Bart walked to the forecastle, where, on descending, he found Dinny and Dick Dullock playing cards, the life they had led with their three companions being one to which they had settled down without a hint of change.
“Well!” asked Dinny, looking up from his dirty cards; “what does he say?”
Dick the sailor gazed inquiringly at both in turn.
“Says he shall fetch the captain out.”
Dinny whistled.
“And what does Black Mazzard say?” asked Dick.
“Don’t know. Hasn’t been asked.”