almost a gargle, “I best be off now.” But just like Doc had said, he was too weak to get up. After several failed attempts he cursed and grumbled, “The doctor’s done me in.” He took a shaky breath and added, “If I can’t get away and they tips me the black spot, they be after me sea-chest. Boy, if they tips me the black spot, run to this doctor swab and ‘ave him pipe all hands. They’ll find Flint’s crew at the Admiral Benbow.”

“The black spot?” I echoed. The only Spot I’d ever known was white and grey. Pretty friendly guy- for a Mastiff, at least.

“It be a summons, lad,” he wheezed. “It be a black spot on a bit o’ paper, meanin’ the crew’ll turn against me. They wants what’s mine. I was Flint’s first mate, and I be the only one that knows the place.” With a raspy breath that sounded like carriage wheels on cobblestone, he added, “Only one alive, that is. Flint gave me the map when he lay dying.” He grabbed my hand and gripped it with all of the little strength he had. “But don’t go nowhere,” he whispered. “Not unless they tips me the spot, or unless yeh sees the one-legged sailor.”

I gave him my solemn promise. “Nowhere,” I agreed.

Over the next few days the Captain seemed to recover, if only a little. He limped downstairs for his meals, but he rarely spoke.

Then, several weeks afterwards, a ragged old beggar-a weasel-came tapping along the road with a green cloth tied over his eyes. From his cane I knew he must be blind, and I briefly wondered if the cloth was there on doctor’s orders to perhaps let his eyes recover, or if it was there by his own choice to hide whatever injury had blinded him.

“Will any kind friend tell a poor old blind chap where he be?” he asked to the air.

I winced. His voice reminded me of a rusty hinge. “The Admiral Benbow Inn of Black Cove,” I answered.

“I hear a voice,” he creaked. “A young voice. Will ye be a kind young friend and lead me inside?”

I hesitated, since by this time I was more than a little wary of strangers. But I reasoned that if he was blind he couldn’t aim a gun or a knife, so I took his paw to lead him in. The instant my paw touched his, he gripped it like a steel vise. “Now, boy,” he hissed, sounding like a snake with its tail caught in a rusty hinge, “Take me to the captain or I’ll crack your wrist like a chicken’s neck.”

“Ow, OW!” I protested. “Fine, I’ll take you to him!” I was tempted to lead him to the nearest horse trough and knock him in, but I decided this would be a bad idea.

I led him to where the old bucaneer was sitting up in bed. “Here he…” I gasped, but the old beggar had already released my hand, having smelled his prey. “Bill!” he screeched. “Here’s an old friend!”

The captain, who had been on the mend, instantly looked a thousand times worse than he ever had (which I’ve got to say, I would have thought was impossible). His face turned as white as the sheets on which he lay, and his mouth hung open like a cave. “Blind Pew!” he gasped.

“Don’t move an inch, old scallawag,” Pew ordered. “I can’t see, but I can hear a finger stirring. Now, stick out your right paw. Pup, bring his right paw near to me left.”

Bill and I both obeyed, and as the hands passed each other I saw Pew pass something to Bill. Then he turned and bolted like a horse that heard a thunderclap. He must have had an excellent memory, for he scarcely used his cane even on the stairs.

The captain gasped at the piece of paper. “The black spot!” he cried. “They give me six hours. We’ll finish ‘em yet, lad!” He sprang to his feet, tottered, and fell. He’d been hit by a stroke, just as Doc had warned us. I felt for a pulse, but the results only confirmed my fear. He was stone dead.

I ran to tell Mother what had happened, and she frowned. She didn’t cry over him – Mother always seemed to be able to put her emotions to one side until the right time to let them out, even where my father was concerned, and she had little sorrow to spare for a drunken sailor. “The captain owed us money,” she noted as she dried her hands on a dishtowel, “And his shipmates won’t leave us anything. We’ll have to take it ourselves.”

“Mother!” I protested. “These dogs will be here soon! We have to go, now!”

But Mother was firm. Money was needed to run the Benbow, and the Benbow was all we had to live on. More important, it was one of the few things she had left of my father. So with a determined gait, she strode up to the captain’s room and crouched by his body, searching his pockets. Her search only turned up a knife, some coins that were nowhere near enough for his debt, a thimble, some thread, and a few big needles. After a moment’s thought she reached for his neck and pulled out the key, hung on a thread and tucked under the dog’s shirt. “Put a sheet over him for now,” she told me as she got up and walked out.

With a grimace, I pulled a sheet from the bed and covered up the captain’s body before following Mother up to the attic, where we kept the chest. I caught up to her at the attic door, and we went in together.

Bill’s sea chest was in the corner, covered with a layer of dust that evidenced the man’s long stay. She unlocked it, causing the stench of tar and tobacco to fill the small room. I gagged. Hadn’t the captain ever heard of potpourri?

Mother, unperturbed by the odor, reached in and extracted a pouch of money. “I’ll only take what he owed us,” she uttered.

“Uh, I don’t know if you got this, but we have pirates after us,” I reminded her. Panic had made me edgy. “Might I suggest we just take the money and run for it?”

But Mother was an honest woman, and insisted on taking only the exact amount – not a copper more or less, a task that required more than two hours to accomplish. The captain must have been one heck of a traveler, because that pouch had every kind of money in it I’d ever heard of! “I wish your father was here,” she murmured. “He knew more about money than I do.”

I wondered what she meant until she started to sort the money she extracted into two piles. English coins in one and everything else in another.

“Oh, no,” I muttered. This could take all day, and we had less than six hours!

After what seemed like an interminably long time, I heard a tapping sound outside. Peeking out the window, I saw Blind Pew coming up the road with a whole gang of dogs, his cane tapping against the street like the knocking sound in old houses which I’d heard is a sign of death. Something told me they weren’t here for a biscuit and a game of fetch. “They’re early!”

Mother scooped the foreign coins back into the pouch and took the English ones she had counted out. “This will have to do,” she sighed.

I glanced into the chest and grabbed the first thing my eyes fell upon, an oilcloth package. “I’ll take this to make it even.”

As we ran downstairs, the sound of furniture being thrown around announced the pirates’ arrival. “To Bill’s cabin, mates!” screeched Pew. “And find that map!”

Map? I wondered. I was jerked out of my thoughts when Mother grabbed me by the arm. “Let’s go!” she cried.

I nodded, and we bolted for the back door. “I just hope they don’t have us surrounded!” I remarked.

By now it was dark out, and I think from the screams that the guests must have been fleeing into the night. Mother and I ran for the bridge that led over the river and into the village. With a desperate leap to cover the last stretch, we slid down the bank and lay there, barely daring to peek up over it to watch the inn. We didn’t have long to watch, though. A whistle came from the other side of the bridge, piercing the night. At first I thought it was a signal that someone had found us, and I could smell by the spike in Mother’s fear that she thought the same. Especially when one of the pirates cried, “The lookout!” I thought we were done for, but the words “Avast! Run for it!” followed and bolstered my courage. Especially when they were followed in turn by the sound of galloping hooves.

“Wait!” I heard Pew scream. “Johnny, Black dog, don’t leave old Pew! Oh, if I had eyes!”

I couldn’t see what happened, but I heard galloping hooves and a scream from Pew, a frantic cry of pain and terror. I later learned that in his confusion, Pew had run right under the horses and been trampled to death.

“Come on,” I told Mother after the ruckus had died down. “The town watch must have chased them off.” We climbed the bank and headed for the inn.

“Hold!” cried one of the dogs on horseback, swinging a long gun barrel in our direction.

“Wait!” I cried, throwing up my hands.

Mother barely flinched. “I am Mrs. Hawkins, the owner of this inn.”

The dog-a