“Mistah Bob, Ah been sarchin’ ever’whar. Ah cain’t fin’ hide nur hair o’ dat writin’.”
“We’ll take you over to the mainland in the morning and leave you,” said Bob decisively. “You’ll have to get home the best way you can—walk, I reckon.”
Jerry’s mouth curved, and he began to whimper.
“That is,” went on Bob, “unless you confess you were telling a story.”
“No, sah, Mistah Bob, no sah. Dat ole colored pirate he shore ’peared to me prezackly like I tole you. Ah ain’t tell no lie.”
“Well,” announced Bob, “we won’t believe it unless you show the paper. Off you go in the morning—no airship for you, and no more camp.”
Jerry’s whimper turned into a sob. But at that moment, Tom and Hal, who had been listening, rushed into the tent.
“What’s this mean?” began Hal holding out the charred paper. “Here’s a paper with something on it in blood.” Jerry’s sobs stopped short, and his eyes began to grow big. “Captain Joe says he found it under Jerry’s blanket in the schooner.” The colored boy’s eyes popped open until the whites looked like little moons.
“Ah ain’t—” he began, but Bob stopped him and grasped the red smeared sheet. “Jerry,” he exclaimed in an alarmed voice, “is this yours? Why it’s signed ‘Black Pirate’. Is this the paper you had?”
“Ah—” he began, and then stopped open mouthed.