He raised the pannikin and allowed a thin stream to trickle on to my face, and as I swallowed the cold liquid it seemed to instil new life into my tortured body.
"That chart is not correct," I began.
"I knew it," he replied, in a tone of triumphant expectancy; "but I'll lay hands on the treasure."
"And when you do, can you remove it from the island?"
"I'll find away," he replied, with a leer. "Dost think I have no friends aboard the ships?"
"Cast my hand loose, and I'll trace a plan of the island," I continued, pretending to ignore the latter part of his remark.
"Very well, then; but no trickery, or----" and he touched the hilt of my knife, which he was wearing in his belt.
"Do I look as if I could trick you?" I asked wearily. "A lad with his feet bound could not hope to get the better of you."
Without another word he cut the rope that encircled my arms, then, stepping back a pace, he drew the knife and held it in a menacing position.
I gave a short glance at the rope that bound my feet. It was thin cord, commonly known as half-inch line.