"
"Good!" sneers Ben. "And the marines?"
"On the ships, where they ought to be."
"Good!" laughs Gillam again. "And the officers?"
"Superintending the raising of the cannon. And I would have you to know,
young man," adds Radisson, "that when a guest asks too many questions, a
host may not answer."
But Ben goes on unheeding.
"Now I'll wager that dog of a runaway slave o' mine, that Jack Battle
who's hiding hereabouts, I'll wager the hangdog slave and pawn my head
you haven't a corporal's guard o' marines and land forces all told!"
M. Radisson never allowed an enemy's taunt to hasten speech or act. He
looked at Ben with a measuring glance which sized that fellow very small
indeed.
"Then I must decline your wager, Ben," says he. "In the first place,
Jack Battle is mine already. In the second, you would lose ten times
over. In the third, you have few enough men already. And in the fourth,
your head isn't worth pawn for a wager; though I may take you, body and
boots, all the same," adds he.
With that he goes off, leaving Ben blowing curses into the fire like a
bellows. The young rake bawled out for more gin, and with head sunk on
his chest began muttering to himself.
"That black-eyed, false-hearted, slippery French eel!" he mumbles,
rapping out an oath.
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