"Don't move," cried the third, "don't move, you possum, or you're giblets, instanter!" But these injunctions scarcely seemed necessary, for, even had the captive been so inclined, he neither possessed the power nor opportunity to move a limb. "Haul him out," cried one. "Yes, lug him into our boat," said another; "so now, you skunk, lay still; don't open your trap, or I'll brain you on sight!" Having transferred the body of the captive from his "own canoe" to theirs, the Mills-Pointers made fast the stranger's _dug-out_, and then paddled for the landing. The pirate was duly hauled ashore, or on to the _wharf-boat_, and left under guard of one of the captors--a dreadful ugly-looking customer, a _cross_ between a whiskey-cask, bowie-knife, and a Seminole Indian or bull-dog, and armed equal to an arsenal--while the other two went up to the nearest "grocery," reported the capture, took a drink, and sent out word for _Court_ to meet. The poor victim was deposited on his back across some barrels, with his hands tied behind him. Recovering his scattered senses, the _pirate_ "waked up." "Look here, my virtuous friend," said he to his body-guard, who sat on an opposite barrel, with a heavy pistol in his hand, "what's all this about?" "Shet up!" responded the guard; "shet up your gourd. You'll know what's up, pooty soon, you ugly cuss, you!" "Well, that's explicit, anyhow!" coolly continued the captive. "But all I want to know, is--am I to be robbed, killed off, or only initiated into the mysteries of your craft?" "Shet up, you piratin' cuss, you; shet up, or I'll give you a settler!" was the reply. [Illustration: "Shet up, you piratin' cuss you; shet up or I'll give you a settler!--_Page_ 305.] "Well, really, you are accommodating," cavalierly replied the but little daunted captive. "One thing consoling I glean, my virtuous friend, from your scraps of information--you are not a pirate yourself, or in favor of that science! But I should like to know, old fellow, where I am, and what the deuce I'm here for." "Well, you'll soon diskiver the perticklers, for here comes the _Court_, and they'll have you dancin' on nothin' and kickin' at the wind, pooty soon; you kin stake your pile on that!" And with this, a hum was heard, and soon a mob of a dozen well-_stimulated_ citizens, and strangers about the Point, came rushing and yelling on to the wharf-boat and were quite as immediately gathered around the captive. The first impulse of the _posse comitatus_ appeared to manifest itself in a desire to hang the victim--straight up! A second (how _sober_ we know not) thought induced them to ask a question or two, and for this purpose the presiding _judge_ drew up before the still prostrate captive, and said-- "Who are you? What have you got to say for yourself, anyhow?" The sunburnt, ragged, and rather romantic-looking prisoner turned his face towards the _judge_, and replied--