“And you stole it for Captain Bassett?” went on the boy excitedly.
The frightened Bahaman shook his head again.
“What happened?” persisted his companion. “Tell me!”
“Ah ain’t nebber see dat Nickolas. Ah ain’t nebber see dat Thomas no mo’.”
“And you?” insisted Andy. “Did you get the pearl?”
The oarsman’s hands were trembling. It was evident that in his half-savage way, he was trying to recall what happened or to think of words to describe it. Again he shook his head, and then suddenly drew the oars into the boat and shipped them. His mouth twitching and his eyelids trembling, he caught his loose shirt with both hands and drew it up to his shoulders. At the same time, he turned on the seat.
His great, muscle-knotted back was seamed with a mass of scars. Long and deep wounds that had turned white in the healing crossed his flesh from his neck to his waist.
Andy shrank back. The persistency with which he had forced the African into this revelation covered him with shame.
“Yo’ ain’t goin’ on dat Timbado Key, is yo’?”
It was Ba’s last appeal.