Without a word, Turner worked like a demon with his knife to sever the cords that cut into the wrists and ankles and those that bound the prisoner to the chair.
"Some sailor did this," he muttered as he slashed the hemp. Freed of his bonds, Cap'n Buifum revived for the moment, passed his hand over his brow, and started up; but his feeble knees gave way and he would have sagged to the floor if Turner and Jimmy had not supported him.
"Get him to the bed," commanded Turner.
A moment later the limp burden was stretched out on the cot, and the Tarheel had located and was lighting the lamp.
"Quick, water," he cried to Jimmy, at the same time pointing to the washstand. Jimmy, seizing the pitcher, began to lave the wan face, while Turner, snatching a flask of stimulant from the cupboard, forced a liberal dose down the old man's throat.
In a few moments the closed eyelids opened. "Where am I?" he asked, light-headedly.
"You're all right. Just a little faint," encouraged Turner, leaning over him. "It's Turner
