"Yes, sir," answered the voice, which was now recognizable as that of Will Rogers; "but we don't want you to be blamed for anything that may happen, or to have any responsibility unless you want to."
"I don't exactly see how that is to be avoided so long as I'm in charge of the vessel," interposed the skipper.
"Oh, we've settled all that," replied Will, cheerfully. "We'll simply seize the sloop and sail her ourselves, and so take all the risk as well as all the responsibility."
"You'll simply seize the vessel," repeated the skipper, slowly, and in a bewildered tone, as though failing to comprehend what he had just heard. "In that case, what's to become of me?"
"Why, we'll put you in irons, or lock you into your state-room, or let you walk a plank, that is, if you know how walking a plank is done, or set you ashore on a desolate island, or perhaps let you go adrift in the small boat without oars or sail. Of course we'd give you plenty of provisions and water, and you'd probably be picked up, 'cause you know they always are. Anyhow, we'd let you take your choice of all those ways."
"Waal, I'll be blowed!" exclaimed the skipper. "If these young pirates hain't planned out a regular high-sea mutiny, with all the fixin's and trimmings, then I'm a farmer."
"Of course," Will hastened to add, "we would rather have you choose to be put in irons, and so stay on board, because when we get to sea if we should strike a typhoon or anything we might want you to help navigate the ship."
"That's so," reflected the skipper, gravely. "And on the whole, I think I'd better stay aboard anyway. But now I'll tell you what I'll do. If you mutineers will turn in, and promise not to leave your bunks again before sunrise, I'll promise not to make any move toward going back before that time, and not even then till we've talked the whole matter over again by daylight."
This proposition seemed to the Rangers so satisfactory, and they were becoming so shivery in the chill night air, as well as sleepy, that it was promptly accepted; and, without further parley, the young mutineers left the deck and hastened below. Little Cal Moody, cuddling close to the big skipper, was already nodding, so the latter lifted him in his strong arms, and carrying him into the hold again, tucked him snugly into his bunk. Then, after bidding the mutineers a polite good-night, and promising to carefully consider their proposition, the skipper returned to the deck. Here for an hour or more he nearly choked with suppressed laughter, which refused to be stilled, and ever broke out afresh as he contemplated the novel aspects of the proposed mutiny.