"Why should we doubt you? Haven't you shown us exactly what you are?"
Giles turned over the papers one by one. None was missing. He folded them and replaced them in their case, buckling its straps.
"All the papers are here," he said. "John, we'll be off. This is our final visit to the Mayflower, Master Jones—unless I ship with you for England. Good voyage, as I hear they say in France. Hope you'll catch a bit of Puritan conscience before you leave the harbour."
Captain Jones followed the boys to the side of the ship where they were to reëmbark in their rowboat. At every step he grew angrier, the veins swelled in his forehead which was only a shade less purple-red than his cheeks. His defeat was a sore thing, the disappointment of the plans which he had laid upon the possession of the stolen documents became more vividly realized with each moment, and the fact that two lads had thus conquered him and were going away with their prize infuriated him.
Giles had swung himself down into the boat and was shipping the oars, but John halted for a moment in a stuffy corner to gloat over the captain's empurpled face and to dally with a temptation to add picturesqueness to their departure. The temptation got the upper hand of him, though John usually held out both hands to mischief.
He drew Bouncing Bully from his breast and levelled it.
"Stop! Gunpowder!" screamed the captain, choking with fear and rage, and pointing at a small keg that stood hard by.
"I won't hit it," John grinned, delightedly. "Let's see how my gunpowder is." With a flourish the mad boy fired a shot into the wall of the tiny cabin, regardless of the fact that the likely explosion of the keg of gunpowder would have blown up the Mayflower and him with her.
The captain fell forward on his face, the men who were at work splicing ropes in the cubby-like cabin cowered speechless, their faces ashen.
John whooped with joy and fled, leaping into the rowboat which he nearly upset.