here. What I says to you is, get to wind'ard o'
vengeance--nay, heave it overboard, shipmate, and you'll ride the
easier, aye and sweeter, and seek something more useful--gold, for
instance, 'tis a handy thing, I've heard say--so ha' done wi'
vengeance!"

"No!" says I, frowning. "Not--nay, not for all Bartlemy's treasure!"

"Aha!" quoth he softly. "So you've heard tell of it then, along the
Spanish Main?"

"I heard tell of it last night in a cave from a sailor-man."

"How?" says he starting and with keen eyes glancing hither and thither.
"A sailor-man--hereabouts?"

"Damme!" says I, "the country seems thick o' sailor-men."

"Ha! D'ye say so? And what like was this one?"

"A comely rogue that sang strange song."

"Ah!" said Penfeather, his eyes narrowing. "A song, says you--and
strange--how strange?"

"'Twas all of dead men and murder!"

"D'ye mind any line o't, shipmate?"

"Aye, the words of it went somewhat like this:

"'Some on a knife did part wi' life
And some a bullet took O!
But--'"

Now here, as I stopped at a loss, my companion took up the rhyme almost
unconsciously and below his breath:

"'But three times three died plaguily
A wriggling on a hook O!'

"Comrade!" says he in the same low voice, "Did ye see ever among these
mariners a one-handed man, a tall man wi' a hook in place of his left
hand--a very bright, sharp hook?" And now as Penfeather questioned me,
he seized my wrist and I was amazed at the iron grip of him.

"No!" I answered.

"Nay," says he, loosing his hold, "how should you--he's dead, along o'
so many on 'em! He's done for--him and his hook, devil burn him!"

"'A hook both long and stout and strong,
They died by gash o' hook O!'"

"Ah!" I cried. "So that was the kind of hook!"

"Aye!" nodded Penfeather, "That was the kind. A bullet's bad, a
knife's worse, but a steel hook, shipmate, very sharp d'ye see, is a
death no man should die. Shipmate, I've seen divers men dead by that
same hook--torn and ripped d'ye see--like a dog's fangs! I'd seen many
die ere then, but that way--'twas an ill sight for queasy stomachs!"

"And he--this man with the hook is dead, you say?"

"And burning in hell-fire!"

"Are you sure?"

"I killed him, shipmate!"

"You!" says I.

"I, shipmate. We fought on a shelf o' rock high above the sea, my
knife agin his knife and hook--'twas that same hook gave me this scar
athwart my jaw--but as he struck, I struck and s