“No gammon now.”
“I assure you I don’t know. I was as much surprised by it as you were, or else you wouldn’t have taken me prisoner.”
“It’s mighty curious anyhow,” said the man, addressing his companion rather than Carlos. “Some mischief’s afloat, and I’m afraid we’ll have to do some pretty lively dodging to keep out of the way of the beaks.”
“The boss seemed to be pretty well cut up, didn’t he?” remarked the other man.
“Yes; but he’s sharp, and I reckon he’ll put into a safe port and leave no wake behind him.”
“They can search a month at Rocky Beach and discover nothing against us. It’s a rum place for running in goods.”
“Yes; but I own I’ll feel considerably relieved when we are once aboard ship and out at sea.”
Carlos heard this and other conversation with but little interest. Strange visions began to flash before his eyes, and wild dreams flitted through his brain. The strain upon his mind had been too much, and the fever was returning with redoubled violence.
He was soon delirious again and he did not know when the yachts came alongside the dark hull of an ocean steamer after having sailed some two miles.
Neither was he conscious of being lifted up in a hammock, taken aboard the vessel, carried below, and deposited in a bunk.