Explore "Black Bartlemy's Treasure" by Jeffery Farnol on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Penfeather drew clenched hand across his brow, and coming to the table reached the half-emptied flagon and drank what remained of the wine thirstily, while Bym, his great body huddled in the chair, stared at the bullet hole in the shutter with starting eyes: as to me, I picked up Penfeather's fallen pistols and laid them on the table, where Godby had set the lanthorn.
"Tressady! " says Bym at last in a hoarse whisper, "Tressady -- O Cap'n, be ye sarten sure?"