“I wouldn’t, sir,” said Tucket. “What do you say, boys?”
“No,” said the men. “No. It wouldn’t do.”
“But I got him to go. I can’t let him get into trouble through me. I’m responsible. I must see about him. I can’t go back without him.”
“He’s give you the foresheet, sir,” said one of the men.
“Yes. The son of a gun. I guess he has,” said another.
“There’s some one in that brush,” said Ed. “Them paharos has topped their booms for keeps.”
“Well,” said Margaret, taking out his white cloth, noting the wild, frightened flight of a half-dozen parrots, “I’m going to the some one, to find out.” He leaped from the sternsheets into the shallow water, and began to wade ashore, holding his cloth.
“Don’t you try it. You come back, sir,” called Tucket.
Margaret heard some one (he thought it was Ed’s voice) saying, “He’s brave all right,” and then, behind him, came the click of gunlocks. He glanced back, and saw that two of the men in the sternsheets had taken out their guns, while a third man laid other loaded guns ready to their hands. Ed called to him as he turned.
“You come back, sir.” Then, seeing that his words were of no avail, he leaped into the water and caught him by the arm. “Back to the boat, sir,” he said. “It’s not you only. It might be us.”