“While the blood was still flowing, the stake-fires would-be lit, and—
“But I’ll say no more; a cannibal feast would have concluded the ceremonies.”
“You mean to say,” cried Weathereye, bringing his fist, and a good-sized one it was, down with a bang on the sill of the open window by which he sat—“do you mean to tell me that these devils incarnate would have burned the poor dear ladies alive, then? Oh, horrible!”
“I said that they meant to; but look at this!”
He handed Weathereye a small yellow dagger.
“What a strange little knife! But why, I say, Halcott, Tandy, this knife is made of gold—solid, hammered gold!”
“Yes,” said Halcott; “and it is this dagger of hammered gold that would have saved my poor Doris and her mother from the torture and the stake.
“But,” he added, “not this dagger only, but every implement in the cave of those fearsome priests was fashioned from the purest gold.”
“This is indeed a strange story,” said Tandy.
“And now, gentlemen,” added Halcott, “can you guess to what seas my barque shall sail next?”