"What are you building the bark for, Tom?" he asked suddenly, as they came in sight of the two houses.
Cavendish was looking at the houses. The porches were sagging, and the Spanish carpenters were busy on the roofs. Newly cut timbers to support the sagging porches were lying on the ground. Clearings had been made here some years ago, and only scrubby small pines dotted these clearings.
"They'll be useful," Cavendish said.
"The houses? I warrant so," David said. He was not very interested. "What are you building the bark for, Tom?" he repeated.
76
"For use," said Cavendish.
"Use?" David said, puzzledly.
"Aye," said Cavendish. He had turned away and David looked at his face, sideways.
"But—" he said, when a woman's scream cut short his words and thought.
It was what Cavendish had feared. It was a muffled scream, an appeal for help. Cavendish sprinted in the direction of the sound and David plunged after him, their booted feet making no sound in the sand.
David pounded along behind Cavendish, not bothering to avoid the branches of small trees. When Cavendish stopped, David bumped into him. Then he moved up alongside his brother.
All David saw was the figure of a girl in a white blouse and skirt. But Cavendish had seen the culprit.
"Rogers," he said.
The crackling of a branch told David that Rogers, one of the Content's men, had not fled far, and that he was returning slowly. Very slowly. He came into view, carrying the bow which he had stopped to pick up in his flight, and which had betrayed him to Cavendish.
"Captain," he said.
Rogers' cheek bore a long scratch. He stood before Cavendish, eyes on the ground. Cavendish said nothing, and finally Rogers lifted his eyes.
"Rogers," said Cavendish, "I made clear what the penalty for violence would be, did I not?"
Rogers said, "Aye, sir." He knew then there was no hope for appeal, not when the Captain reminded him what his orders had been.
"Have you anything to say to me, then?"
Rogers wished desperately that he had, but he had no faith in his ability to lie when Cavendish's blue eyes were on him.
"No, sir," he said.
"Then you may convey to Captain Brule my decision and my respects."
Rogers winced at the thought of telling Brule.
"Aye, sir," he said. He started away.
David felt intensely sorry for Rogers; he watched him go. Rogers had shot three hares which hung from his belt, but he wouldn't care about eating them tomorrow.
77
David looked at the girl. She was small. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders. Her skin was startlingly white. He remembered her from the first night aboard the Santa Anna. She smiled at him tentatively. Cavendish cut short the smile.
"What were you doing here?" he asked, curtly.
Her eyes were deep, deep brown. "Walking, señor," she said, low.
"Your name?"
"Lola, my lord."
Cavendish, angry, frowned at her, and she straightened, lifting her shoulders high.
"I did nothing!" she said. The jade pendant around her neck rose and fell. Under Cavendish's eyes, she repeated, "I did nothing! English pig!" Her gaze shifted to David. "I did not mean you, señor, or the Captain."
David grinned.
Cavendish, unappeased, because this incident marred the camp's first day, said, "You will stay on the beaches."
She stood proudly, facing him. "Si, my lord."
It occurred to David that Cavendish had made no apology for Rogers. David said, "Why, señorita, I—are you hurt?"
"No," she said. "But the English was." She lifted her hand and surveyed her pointed nails. "Blood," she said, raising two fingers for David's inspection.
"I see," said David.
"No, you did not," she said. "Look!"
David transferred his eyes from her face to the fingers she held up.
"I see now," he said.
"Si," she said, "My lord," she added. She dropped her hand, and sighed a little, waiting for her dismissal.
David knew that Cavendish had been angry because he had had to punish one of his men. Cavendish said aloud, in English, "Well, at least Rogers will have recovered by the time we set sail." Suddenly he smiled at Lola, and he looked her over carefully. David was conscious of a sudden fear.
"Tom," he began, when Cavendish cut him short.
"Escort the señorita back to the beaches, David," he said in English. He turned on his heel.
"Aye, sir," said David grimly to Cavendish's back. This was what he had wanted. He had obtained it without asking. As a favor, and because it might cure hotheadedness. He took a deep breath.
78
and wondered why his rebellion had been so quick and resentful. He muttered an oath.
"This way," he said, forgetting that Lola had not understood Cavendish's words.
Her brown eyes looked up at him questioningly, but she took her place at his side. For a minute they walked in silence. She studied him covertly, now she was alone with him. She waited for him to speak first.
"You're to cure me," he said, finally.
"Of what, señor?" she asked, with interest.
"Never mind," he said, looking straight ahead. Absently, he held a branch aside for her.
"I saw you this morning," she said, tentatively.
"Did you?"
"I was watching you haul planks."
"They were heavy," he said. He remembered the morning—the light-hearted and even repentant morning. Now the impatience and anger and resentment were strong.
She said, "You are very strong."
"Si, señorita," he said. "I'm a man—but I must be a baby. Do I look like a baby to you?" His voice was rough, and he stopped walking. His hands reached out and fastened around her waist. Her ribs felt brittle enough for him to crush easily. He pulled her nearer to him.
"Scream, wench," he said, "and my back will be raw tomorrow, too."
She shook her head slowly. "I shall not scream." She was looking at him intently. "But you are the Captain's brother."
His hands dropped from her waist. "How did you know that?"
"Everybody knows it," she said.
"Well, it would make no difference whether I were God Almighty—as far as punishment goes, or a disobeyed order. I do not complain of that, señorita," he added.
"I knew that," she said.
"Did you?" he asked, uninterestedly. He stopped again, judging how far he had penetrated into the woods. She knew, of course, that he was not taking her back to the beach, and she had made no protest. Fifty feet ahead was a place where they could lie beneath low hanging pines.
"Are you alone, here, on San Lucas?" he asked.
"Si," she said.
79
"Why?" he asked.
She walked fast to keep up with him. She walked lithely, barefooted. "My mistress was killed," she said.
"Oh," David said.
"In the battle. She was the only woman hurt."
"You weren't born out here? In New Spain? How old are you?"
"Eighteen," she said. "I was born in Barcelona. I came with my mother and my father to Manila."
David said, "We can sit here." He was taking off his jacket, and he laid it down.
"For me?" she asked.