“’Bout a mile,” said Vince coolly. “Why, Mike Ladelle thought you were dead?”
“So I am nearly,” groaned Daygo. “Oh, my head, my head!”
“Yes, you did get a pretty good crack,” said Vince; “and you’ll get another if you don’t lie still.”
“But you’ve tied me so tight, Master Vince: line’s a-cutting into my wristies.”
“Of course it is,” said Vince coolly. “I tied it as tightly as I could. You ought to be pretty well satisfied that we didn’t leave you to drown.”
“Ah!” groaned Daygo, “don’t say that, Master Vince. I’ve been a good friend to you and him.”
“Yes, and we’re going to be good friends to you, Joe. You’re such a wicked old rascal that it will do you good to be sent to prison.”
“No, no; don’t do that, my lad. Mebbe they’d hang me.”
“What, for a pirate and smuggler? Well, perhaps they will,” said Vince coolly.
“But you wouldn’t like that, my lad. Untie me, and let me set you ashore, and then I’ll sail away and never come near the Crag again.”