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Updated: May 5, 2025
"Tressady!" says Bym at last in a hoarse whisper, "Tressady O Cap'n, be ye sarten sure?" "Sure!" says Penfeather, in the same hushed manner, and reaching powder and bullets from a cupboard he began methodically to reload his pistols. "He'll be outside now where the shadows be thickest, waiting me with Abnegation and Sol and Rory, and God knoweth how many more." "Then he aren't dead, Cap'n?"
"Adam," says I, unstrapping my wallet as Bym and Godby descended the stair, "if we are to have our throats cut to-night, 'twere as well I handed back your chart first"; and I laid it on the table. "Why 'tis as safe with you, comrade but as you will!" says he, slipping the chain about his neck. "As for any throat-slitting, Martin, you'll find that with danger my inborn caution groweth to timidity "
"God-be-here Jenkins am I, master," said Godby, "and well beknown to Joel Bym as keepeth this house, strangle me else ask Joel! And if you're Master Penfeather I've first, this here for ye, and second, a warning." And speaking, Godby drew a letter from the breast of his leathern jerkin. "A warning?" says Penfeather, glancing at the superscription, "Against whom?"
Penfeather drew clenched hand across his brow, and coming to the table reached the half-emptied flagon and drank what remained of the wine thirstily, while Bym, his great body huddled in the chair, stared at the bullet hole in the shutter with starting eyes: as to me, I picked up Penfeather's fallen pistols and laid them on the table, where Godby had set the lanthorn.
So having taken our leave of Bym, Godby and I followed Adam along the passage, guided by the Bo's'n's lanthorn until, turning a sudden, sharp corner, we plunged into pitchy gloom wherein I groped my way until Penfeather's voice stayed me: "Easy all!" says he, softly. "Have your pistols ready and heed how you come."
"Good!" says Penfeather and summoned Joel Bym, who, beholding the peddler, stared, bellowed jovial greeting, and at nod from Penfeather, departed with him, arm in arm. "Well, Martin," says Adam when the door had closed, "and what d'ye make o' this tale of sailor-men?" "That they're the same rogues I fell out with." "Beyond doubt, Martin. And what more?"
'Didn't jes' like that white stockin', he said, as I came in. 'Wondered how he'd look without it. They all agreed this horse and the whistler were as much alike as two peas in appearance. Breakfast over Uncle Eb asked the Irishman to hitch him up. 'Come Bill, said he, 'le's take a ride. Dean'll be comm' 'long bym bye on his way t' town with that trotter o' his'n. 'Druther like to meet him.
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