“Ay, Captain,” he said, “you are right there. ’Twas not to meet you I came to the East. Prithee tell your men to take the brig down the Pyfleet and come with me to the Ship.”
The Spaniard laughed strangely.
“Friend French,” he said, “are thy horses lame?”
The young man looked at him for a moment before he spoke.
“Ay,” he said at last. “Wonderful lame.”
Black’erchief Dick threw back his head and laughed heartily.
“Thou art a brave man, French,” he said, but continued quickly: “There is such a lameness as can be cured to-morrow for a trip to Tiptree, eh, friend?”
“Ah!” said the big man, nodding his head sagely, “’tis a wonderful strange lameness that they have.”
Dick nodded.
By this time the rowboat had once more come to the plank across the mud. Blueneck, a shadowy figure in the darkness, stepped out and came toward them.