Sure, d'ye think every wan in the island is as foolish as the
governor? If you do, y'are mistaken, and that's all there is to say."
"The hounds not here--in de island, massa!" declared the Maroon
questioningly.
"They'll be here within the next few hours, and then where will you and
your pals be? You'll be caught between sharp teeth--nice, red, sharp,
bloody teeth; and you'll make good steak-better than your best olio."
The native gave a moan--it was the lament of one whose crime was come
tete-a-tete with its own punishment.
"That's the game to play," said Michael to himself as he fastened the
door tight. "The hounds will settle this fool-rebellion quicker than
aught else. Mr. Calhoun's a wise man, and he ought to be governor here.
Criminal? As much as the angel Gabriel! He must put down this
rebellion--no wan else can. They're stronger, the Maroons, than ever
they've been. They've planned this with skill, and they'll need a lot of
handlin'. We're safe enough here, but down there at Salem--well, they
may be caught in the bloody net. Bedad, that's sure."
A few moments afterwards he met Dyck Calhoun.
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