"I think the natives saw you coming out of the lagoon, one dawn. Blueskin, who had evaded me with the papers and the money, is a prisoner here, and will perish on the same gallows as yourself. Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. It was bleeding again.
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