"You bet," answered Bony Sawyer.
The others nodded their heads, and Divine sprang up and
started down toward Ward.
"Hol' on you!" commanded the mate. "This here arrangement
don' include you--it's jes' between Skipper Simms an'
his sailors. You're a rank outsider, an' you butts in an' starts
a mutiny. Ef you come back you gotta stand trial fer that--see?"
"You better duck, mister," advised Red Sanders; "they'll
hang you sure."
Divine went white. To face trial before two such men as
Simms and Ward meant death, of that he was positive. To flee
into the forest meant death, almost equally certain, and much
more horrible. The man went to his knees, lifting supplicating
hands to the mate.
"For God's sake, Mr. Ward," he cried, "be merciful. I was
led into this by Theriere. He lied to me just as he did to the
men. You can't kill me--it would be murder--they'd hang
you for it."
"We'll hang for this muss you got us into anyway, if we're
ever caught," growled the mate. "Ef you hadn't a-carried the
girl off to be murdered we might have had enough ransom
money to have got clear some way, but now you gone and
cooked the whole goose fer the lot of us."
"You can collect ransom on me," cried Divine, clutching at
a straw.
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