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Ropes were flung to them and Joe saw his good friend safely aboard before he went up the side. The carpenter's mate was both burned and bruised but his hurts were not grievous and he was able to drag himself aft with Joe as a crutch. "My own particular prize, sir, by your gracious leave," said Joe Hawkridge, addressing Captain Wellsby. "This is Mr.
"A fellow of iron will and courage, this Rackham, by all accounts. I have conceived a respect for him." "I forgive him his sins," replied the skipper. "Now, lads, boats away, and fish up those dying wretches." Joe Hawkridge emitted a jubilant whoop and dived over the rail without waiting for a boat.
"I don't believe they will attempt to fire the house as long as the ladies are with us," he exclaimed; "some one of our party has been cowardly enough to sneak off. As I call your names, answer." He proved the truth of what he said. He had eight companions, not counting Hawkridge and Sterry.
Hawkridge and Capt. Asbury," she said, unable to share his ardour. "Then do you wish me to stay here?" "I think it is safer." "And go up in flame and smoke?" "Won't you be willing to share the risk with me?" she asked, entering into his half-jocose vein. "But the rustlers will save you that risk; they will give you a good point of observation, from which you can have a fine view of the scene."
Take trouble as it comes and, ware ye, don't weaken." They stared at the oncoming ship, dreading to be rescued and even more fearful of being passed by. Disfigured though she was by a shattered foremast, the Revenge made a gallant picture as she leaned to show the copper sheathing which flashed like gold. Her bow flung the crested seas aside and Joe Hawkridge muttered admiringly: "A swift vessel!
"It seems to me," added Hawkridge, thoughtfully, "that there have been some woeful mistakes made. The Cattle Association have organized an expedition to rid Johnson, Natroma and Converse Counties of cattle-thieves, as they call them. They have imported twenty-five picked men from Texas, every one of whom is a fighter and dead shot, with Capt. Smith, an ex-U.S. marshal, as their leader.
Horrified he beheld a pair of Spanish boots with scarlet, crinkled morocco tops, and they encased bandy legs which were strong and thick. What saved the miserable young Hawkridge was that the occupant of these splendid boots paused half-way down the ladder to shout a profane command or two in those husky accents so feared by all lawful shipmen.
When they vanished beyond a sandy island, the lad in the live-oak tree said to himself: "My guess is that Blackbeard has put a stopper on all talk of mutiny by one bold stroke. A bloody weeding-out, and in those two boats are the poor wretches who were taken alive. Alas, one of 'em may be Joe Hawkridge unless he be dead already. He talked too much of Stede Bonnet aboard the ship.
This left them really in worse spirits than before, and they drowsed off to sleep, and no wonder, after such a night as they had passed. Accustomed to broken watches, Joe Hawkridge slept uneasily with one ear open. Once or twice he sat up, heard Jack's steady snores, and lay down again. It was the ship's bell which finally brought him to, and he counted the strokes.
"What for did I ever quit carpenterin' to go a-piratin'? 'Tis the worst basket of chips that ever was." "No sooner do I crawl out of one hole than I tumble into another," very truthfully observed Joe Hawkridge. "Insomuch as I've allus crawled out, you and me'll shed no more tears, Peter. There's a kick in me yet."
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