“He might kill us.”
“No, he mightn’t. Bah! what a silly old Ladle you are! He couldn’t. People don’t do such things now, only in stories. I tell you what I believe.”
“What?” said Mike, for Vince paused as if to think.
“Well, I believe he feels that his old smuggler’s cave is done for now we’ve found out the way down to it, so he’s going to clear it out and start another somewhere else. He means to keep us prisoners till the last keg’s on board, and as soon as this is done he’ll go to his boat and take his hat off to us and tell us we may have the caverns all to ourselves.”
“Think so?” said Mike, looking up at his companion for the first time.
“Yes, I believe that’s it, Ladle; and if it wasn’t for knowing how miserable they must be over yonder I should rather like all this—that is, if you’re going to play fair and not get hitting out when we ought to be the best of friends.”
“Don’t—don’t, Cinder: I can’t bear it,” groaned Mike, letting his head drop in his hands. “I hurt myself a hundred times more than I hurt you.”
“Oh, did you! Ha! ha!” cried Vince. “Come, I like that: why, I shall have a bruise as big as the top of my hat! Oh, I say, Ladle, old chap, don’t—don’t talk like that! It’s all right. You thought I was fighting against you. Sit up. Some of the beggars will see.”
Mike sat up with his face twitching, and kept his back to the upper part of the cavern.
“That’s better. Well, I say I should really like it if it wasn’t for them at home. I call it a really good, jolly adventure, such as you read of in books. Now, what we’ve got to do is to wait till they’re asleep, cut off all their heads with their own cutlasses, seize the boat, row off to the lugger, wait till old Joe comes back, and then spike him with the points of cutlasses till he pilots us out safely. Then we’ve got to sail home as prize crew of the lugger, which would be ours. Stop! there’s something we haven’t done.”