“You arn’t going to murder me?” he groaned.
“You wait and see— Ah!” yelled Vince, for the treacherous old ruffian had seized him by the chest and was dragging him out of the boat.
But Mike was ready: the bat came down with tremendous force, and the old man loosened his grasp and sank, remaining beneath the surface so long that the boys gazed at each other aghast.
“Quick! there he is,” cried Mike; and Vince seized the oar and sculled to where the old man had come slowly up, feebly moving his hands, and apparently insensible.
“We must haul him in, Mike,” said Vince. “He’s not likely to hurt us now.”
“If he is,” said Mike, “we must do it all the same;” and, leaning over, they each got a good grip, and, heaving together, somehow rolled Daygo into the bottom of the boat, where they dragged his head beneath the centre thwart, and then firmly bound him hand and foot, using some strong fishing line as well as the painter and the rope belonging to the little grapnel.