"You wish me to go with you," he said, "and I don't wish to go, which leaves it an open question. It's best to decide it in clean and decisive fashion, and I suggest that we leave it to your cutlass and my sword."
The close-set eyes of the captain gleamed.
"I don't want to kill you, but to take you back alive," he said. "You were always a strong and handy lad, Peter, and I need your help."
"You won't kill me. That I promise you."
"You haven't a chance on earth."
"You pledge your word that your men will not interfere while the combat is in progress, nor will they do so afterward, if I win."
"They will not stir. Remain where you are, lads."
The two sailors settled themselves back comfortably, clasping their knees with their hands, and Robert knew that he had nothing to fear from them. Their confidence in the captain's prowess and easy victory was sufficient assurance. They were not to be blamed for the belief, as their leader's cutlass was heavy and his opponent was only a youth. The captain was of the same opinion and his mood became light and gay.
"I don't intend to kill you, Peter," he said, "but a goodly cut or two will let out some of your impertinent blood."
"Thanks, captain, for so much saving grace, because I like to live. I make you the same promise. I don't want your death on my hands, but there is poison in the veins of a man who is willing to be a slaver. I will let it out, in order that its place may be taken by pure and wholesome blood."