CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
THE PIRATE CAPTAIN OF THEIR DREAMS.
The walk did Vince good, for the action given to his muscles carried off the sensation which made his fists clench from time to time in his pockets and itch to be delivering blows wherever he could make them light on his companion's person.
He did not notice that he was ploughing a rut in the sand by going regularly to and fro, for he was thinking deeply about their position; and as he thought, the dread that the captain's words had inspired, endorsed as they were by Daygo's, began to fade away, till he found himself half contemptuously saying to himself that he should like to catch the skipper at it--it meaning something indefinite that might mean something worse, but in all probability keeping them prisoners till he had got away all his stores of smuggled goods.
Then, as the rut in the sand grew deeper from the regular tramp up and down, Vince's thoughts flitted from the trouble felt by his mother, who must be terribly anxious, to his companion, whose back was towards him, and who with elbows on knees had bent down to rest his chin upon his hands.
Vince was a little surprised at himself, and rather disposed to think that he was weak; for somehow all the hot blood had gone out of his arms and fists, which were now perfectly cool, and felt no longer any desire to fly about as if charged with pugno-electricity, which required discharging by being brought into contact with Mike's chest or head.
"Poor old Ladle!" he found himself thinking: "what a temper he was in! But it was too bad to hit out like that, when what I did was to help him.

But there, he didn't know." Vince was pretty close to his fellow-prisoner now; but he had to turn sharply round and walk away.
"Glad I didn't hit him again, because if I had we should have had a big fight and I should have knocked him about horribly and beaten him well, and I don't want to.

I'm such a stupid when I get fighting: I never feel hurt--only as if I must keep on hitting; and then all those sailor fellows would have been looking on and grinning at us.

Glad we didn't fight." Then Vince began to think again of their position, which he told himself was very horrible, but not half so bad as that of the people at both their homes, where, only a mile or two away from where they were, the greatest trouble and agony must reign.
"And us all the time with nothing the matter with us, and sitting down as we did and eating such a breakfast! Seems so unfeeling; only I felt half-starved, and when I began I could think of nothing else .-- Such nonsense! he's not going to kill us, or he wouldn't have given us anything to eat.

Here, I can't go on like this." Vince stopped his walk to and fro at the end of the beaten-out track in the sand, and turned off to stand behind Mike, who must have heard him come, but did not make the slightest movement.
Then there was silence, broken by the voice of the French captain giving his orders to his men, who were evidently rearranging the stores ready for removal.
"I say, Mike," said Vince at last.
No answer.
"Michael." Still no movement.