Zeb said no more, but obediently fetched the rope, and before many minutes had passed Frank was bound hand and foot. Moreover, a gag, consisting of a dirty fragment torn from the elder Daniels’ shirt, was thrust into his mouth.
“What’ll we do with him now?” demanded Zeb, when this had been done.
“Humph, I hadn’t thought of that,” rejoined the elder fisherman; “we can’t leave him here, for we don’t want any one to find him when they come down, as they are bound to do afore long when that idiot Plumbo finds out that we’ve fooled him. What will we do with the young game cock?”
“I’d like to chuck him overboard,” quoth Zeb amiably, staunching his bleeding nose with a dirty coat sleeve.
“Don’t waste time talking rubbish,” angrily rejoined his parent; “see here, Duval, kain’t you think of something?”
“Yes, I can,” was the eager reply; “it’s just occurred to me. Ho! ho! I guess that’ll keep him quiet for a while.”
“Well, what do you propose to do?” growled Daniels. “Don’t stand there like an owl. Out with it.”
“Well, my friend, you see those big barrels over there?”
“Yes, what about them?”
“We’ll put him in one of those and give him a sea trip.”