"Could be, but it ain't. I'm looking for two hands jumped ship."
The bloodhounds lay motionless, except that now and then one of them would twitch its hide in order to shoo off flies. The Frencher regarded them with a fond paternal smile.
Suddenly he remembered his manners.
"Maitrejean, Monsieur, Jules de Marigny de Maitrejean."
"Name's Long," said Adam. "From Newport."
"The 'ounds and I, we 'ave sport together."
"A runaway slave?"
"Ah, yes. They are incorrigible, monsieur. Scarce a week passes but one slips away. I—I confess I make it easy for them to do so. Not en masse but singly. It provides a diversion. And it is exercise for Castor and Pollux here, also for me. Sport. You are shock', monsieur?"
"Well, they say "When in Rome-'"
"Assuredly, monsieur."
Only I don't think I'd ever hunt a man with dogs, even in Rome, Adam reflected.
"Your mariners, monsieur—it is likeliest that they will stumble out into one of my fields, and an overseer will then send them to the plantation house. Will you go there with me?"
"Your nigger—"
"Tomorrow will do as well."
"Don't you ever lose 'em for good?"
"Sometimes."
He was an odd one, for a planter. He must have been wealthy; but if he was wealthy, then what was he doing in the islands?
"In addition, monsieur, assuredly you need refreshment. The, uh, the forest has been unkind to you, eh?"
"Looks like you came through it all right."
"I am use' to it. I live here. Were we aboard a ship doubtless you would snigger at how I reeled."
Adam didn't expect he'd snigger at anything just then, the way he felt.
They came out of the jungle abruptly, to find themselves at the edge of a cane field. There was no glimpse of the sea. Here Maitrejean paused to permit his guest to rest, though he himself showed not the slightest sheen of sweat, nor was he breathing heavily.
"A bath, some brandy, and monsieur will be a new man, eh?"
"Sounds good."
"Monsieur must stay a while—a few days, a few weeks,"
"Whoa! I got work to do."
"Such as?"
"Got eels to peddle, somewhere."
The word was strange to Maitrejean, who said over and over, his brows knit: "Eels—eels—"
Adam tried to elucidate but he could think of no other word for the pesky animals. Unused to waving and waggling his hands, nevertheless he strove to make a manual explanation.
"Aha! But of course, monsieurl I will find you one!"
He darted back into the jungle and began to run from place to place, scanning the ground. It was some time before Adam could catch up to him and persuade him that it was not snakes he sought.
They returned to the edge of the cane field, where Adam tried with his hands again, this time however supplementing the mad motions with one of the few French words he did know, poisson, fish.
Maitrejean brightened.
"Ah, les anguilles! You carry a cargo of anguilles, Monsieur? But—it is for eating?"
"Can't imagine what else you might use 'em for."
"But—but this is sent by Heaven!"
"Might not think so, you smelled 'em on a hot night with the hatches open."
"You conceive, monsieur, I have seventy blacks, and more on the way from Guinea. They must be fed. But our Navy— You have 'ow many barrels, monsieur?— Ah!— And you demand?"
"Five pounds," Adam said glibly, raising the price on the spur of the moment. "That's English pounds, of course."
"But I do not have any English money!"
"Well, I don't know about French money—"
"I do not 'ave francs either."
"Then molasses. I'd have to sample it. Make sure of the grade. I can supply staves and hoops, you lend me a cooper."
"I have three coopers. You'll see their shop soon, when we reach the top of this rise. But I have not the molasses, monsieur."
"Umph— Well, I'll take clayed sugar."
"But I do not have clayed sugar. No, nor raw sugar either. At this moment, alas, I am all out of both. Observe—there is my crushing mill, and there's the cooperage beyond it. We'll come in sight of the house itself soon. No, I have no sugar, monsieur."
Here we go again, thought an embittered Adam Long.
"But I do have silver, monsieur. Not gold, no, but silver. Spanish eight —real pieces. Would they suffice?"
Adam Long squinched shut his eyes to conceal the joy that must have leapt in them. Thunderation! Pieces-of-eight suffice? Why, they were better than sterling! He cleared his throat thoughtfully.
"Could be they'll do— Could be-"
Very light slaves, octaroons likely, metis the French called them, bathed Adam, while others dried and brushed and mended his clothes. He was shaved. He was even sprayed with scent. He must have smelled like a bawdy house when he rejoined his host on a terrace, but all the same it felt good.
It was mid-morning now and very hot. On the air hung thick sweet ribbons of smoke from the kettles. Back in the hills a road twisted, coming into sight, vanishing again; and they could see that a horseman was descending toward the sea; dust stood behind him.
"A courier from Gonave," Maitrejean said.
He clapped his hands, and slaves brought a brassbound box.
They were sure-enough pieces-of-eight, Spanish coins. Adam tested several with his teeth and clanked others on the stones of the terrace.
An overseer arrived with Waters and Peterson.
Now here was a pitiful pair, lacerated, bloody, muddy, too. When they saw their skipper the delight on their faces was touching. Once surly, now they groveled. They begged to be taken back.
"Don't know's I want you," Adam growled.
Inside, he felt bad about the business. Maybe he had been too harsh? What right did he have, after all, to be sitting in judgment? Who was he to be waited upon, a pile of silver at his elbow, while foremast hands cringed before him? His common sense repeated that these two were no-goods; but there is more to a man than common sense.
"Lash 'em?" asked the Frenchy.
"Eh?"
"I'd have it indoors then, monsieur. You, uh, you understand? The example—"
Adam shook his head.
"You islanders," he muttered. "Like living in a powder magazine."
"It is precisely like that, monsieur."
Adam said to the deserters: "You found your way here, now find your way back. And tell Mr. Forbes to get ready to unload."
"Do we have to go through them woods again?" Waters quavered.
"A fine pair," Adam said scornfully. "Take a little walk among the trees and you look as if you'd been run through Mister Maitrejean's crushing mill here. And scared half to death."
"It— It was like the Dark Place," Waters whispered.
"We'll have no blasphemy! Go back to the schooner!"
Adam and the planter discussed the deal. Maitrejean sent for his coopers. He caused hands to be called in from the fields.
There was no written contract—after all, this was an illegal transaction —but the agreement was perfect. The two men rose to seal the bargain with a handshake.
A servant announced the arrival of the courier from Gonave. Maitrejean excused himself.
Adam sat down again, his hand still unshaken. He was filled with relief. He had in fact fallen to thinking, after so many failures, that this voyage might be bewitched. There could be a spell over the whole enterprise; and if this was the case suspicion pointed at Deborah Selden as the raiser. Adam didn't like to think this of Deborah, a woman he admired mightily. It must be a terrible thing to be possessed by the Devil, your soul doomed to everlasting torment. But until a little while ago it sure looked as if that might be the case with Obadiah Selden's dark-eyed daughter; and Adam shivered at the thought. Now, however, everything was all right.