"By Jericho--Radisson!" he gasped.
Then he tossed his chin defiantly in air like an unbroken colt disposed
to try odds with a master.
"Don't be afraid to land," he called down out of sheer impudence.
"Don't be afraid to have us land," Radisson shouted up to him. "We'll
not harm you!"
Ben swore a big oath, fleered a laugh, and kicked the sand with his
heels. Raising a hand, he signalled the watchers on the ship.
"Sorry to welcome you in this warlike fashion," said he.
"Glad to welcome you to the domain of His Most Christian Majesty, the
King of France," retorted Radisson, leaping ashore.
Ben blinked to catch the drift of that.
"Devil take their majesties!" he ejaculated. "He's king who conquers!"
"No need to talk of conquering when one is master already," corrected M.
de Radisson.
"Shiver my soul," blurts out Ben, "I haven't a tongue like an eel, but
that's what I mean; and I'm king here, and welcome to you, Radisson!"
"And that's what I mean," laughed M. Radisson, with a bow, quietly
motioning us to follow ashore. "No need to conquer where one is master,
and welcome to you, Captain Gillam!"
And they embraced each other like spider and fly, each with a free hand
to his sword-hilt, and a questioning look on the other's face.
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