“Of course,” answered Frank, thoughtlessly. “You’re a liar!” said the man with the black beard, instantly. “Knew it all the time.” “Thank you,” answered Frank. “You are polite.” “I saw you on the small boat to-day,” said Capt. Horn. “You wanted to come on board then. How you ever succeeded in doing so now is more than I can tell, but you’ll be sorry for it. When you go back to New York the tide will take you there.” “What are you going to do with me?” “Feed you to ther fish, durn ye! It’s no use to ask you questions, for you’ll lie faster than I can ask ’em. Lies won’t do ye no good.” “Sorry about that,” was Frank’s cool retort; “but it’ll save me a heap of trouble to invent ’em. Shan’t have to rack my brain to get ’em up.” Capt. Horn looked at the boy in astonishment. Frank was a cool customer for his years. Merry was securely bound, as he had already discovered. The men lifted him and flung him into a berth, where he was left to his thoughts, which might have been more pleasant. Frank’s head had been injured in the fall, and it throbbed painfully, but he made no murmur. The men talked a while, and then fell to playing cards. Three of them played, while the fourth remained on deck to watch. Frank could see nothing of the captives. The night wore on. Capt. Horn arose and looked into Frank’s face. The boy’s eyes were closed, and he was breathing steadily and regularly. “Never saw anything like that!” exclaimed the captain. “The youngster is asleep! He is a cool one!” The watch on deck was changed, and the men took turns in guarding Frank. Toward morning, after going on deck, Capt. Horn announced that the wind had changed, and they could get out of the cove. Merry still seemed to be sleeping when all the sailors went on deck to get up the anchor and make sail. Barely were they gone when Frank was startled by a voice that called: “Hello, Merry!” “Eh?” exclaimed Frank. “Who are you?” A head rose up from the opposite berth. The light shone full on the face of the person in that berth, and Frank Merriwell came near shrieking: “Bart Hodge!” Frank was incredulous. He could not believe the evidence of his eyes. He was almost inclined to think himself staring at a phantom. “Hodge--impossible!” “Not a bit of it,” assured the voice of Hodge himself. “I am here, but I’m tied, like yourself, and it strikes me we are in a mighty bad scrape.” “But--but we thought you dead,” said Frank. “We felt sure you were dead. How do you come to be here?”