"Worse, Joel!" says Penfeather, wiping sweat from him.
"Art hurt, Adam?" I questioned, eyeing his wild figure, and now I saw that the thin, steel chain was gone from his sinewy throat.
"No, shipmate. But the dagger, look ye—'tis clean disappeared, Martin."
"And good riddance," quoth I. "But, Adam—what o' your chart—gone along o' the dagger, has it?"
"Tush, man!" says he, sheathing his knife, "'Tis snug in that wallet o' yours."
"My wallet!" I cried, clapping hand on it where it hung at my girdle.
"Aye, shipmate. I slipped it there as I bid ye good-night! But, Martin—O Martin, the dead is alive again—see how I'm all gashed with his hook."
"Hook?" quoth Joel, shooting great, hairy head forward. "Did ye—say a—hook, Cap'n?"
"Aye, Joel—Tressady's alive again."
"God love us!" gasped the giant and sank into a chair.