CHAPTER V.
FRIENDLY ADVICE.
The moon had arisen while they slept and now shining brightly down clearly revealed the fearsome object stretched on the planks at Charley's feet. It was a man lying flat on his back, his arms outstretched, and his face upturned to the stars.
"Dead, murdered!" Charley cried, softly.
"Perhaps he is only drunk," suggested his chum in a tense whisper.
But Charley silently pointed to a gaping hole in the man's forehead and the dark pool on the wharf at his head.
The captain, stooping, felt of the man's wrist, raised his arm and let it drop. "Yes, he is cold, dead, and stiff," he whispered. "Let us get away from here. We can do him no good."
In a few minutes, the four were huddled in the "Dixie's" cabin, talking over the tragedy with bated breath. They were not strangers to the sight of death. In the course of the adventurous lives they had lived, they had often seen the coming of the gristly monster, but the suddenness of this sight had upset their nerves already overtaxed by the events of the previous day and the night, and it was long before they could compose themselves to sleep.
Just as Walter was dropping off into dreamland, Charley nudged him with his elbow. "I've got it," he whispered, softly.
"What?" inquired Walter, drowsily.