The Desire was running full before the wind. She was low in the water, her hatches battened over a bursting treasure. Broad on the starboard bow the Cape of San Lucas went up its eight hundred and fifty feet; beyond it to the west the sun would soon be setting to throw the great ocean into a blaze of color. Night would almost come before the Desire rounded the Cape.
At the rail, Cavendish watched the curve of the beach, the darkening mountain. Sunset flamed across the sky, but he did not see it. The colors faded, the sky paled. Night had almost fallen when, with the Content astern, the Desire stood out on the broad Pacific.
PART THREE
Chapter XXI
David walked toward the tents, three hundred yards lay be-tween him and the first tent. But he had walked only ten feet before he heard Lola's voice.
"David!"
He looked around in the direction of the sound. She was standing just within the shelter of the scrubby pines, a small gay figure. He started toward her.
He felt her hesitation, as though the trees meant safety to both of them. Then she ran to him, through the soft sand.
"I knew you were coming!" She took his hands. She grasped them firmly, pulling. But he stood still.
"No," he said, "I'm not running away."
Again she hesitated. "We could hide, together."
"No," he said. He could see figures of men standing down the beach, watching them, waiting.
"There is still time," she said quietly, following his glance.
He still held her hands, and he squeezed them tight.
"Look," he said.
The Desire was under full sail. Her blue and gold stern, high over the water, left a churning white wake. Already she was too far away for David to make out figures on her decks. He looked back to Lola, and then to the beach ahead. More men were clustered before the line of tents.
"Lola, listen," he said quickly. "If I ran into those woods now, it would be good sport to catch me. And there's no living in those forests either. Not for long. But if you want to walk with me toward those tents, you may come. And—have faith in me, Lola."
"But I do," she said simply.
He released her hands. He thought she possessed the grace of a panther, and the pride of one, as he paced his steps to hers. Absently, he reached one hand to his torn sleeve, to tear it free; it
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was dangling. But she stopped him with a quick gesture; she started to roll up his sleeve.
"I can fix it later," she said. "I can mend it."
David nodded. "It's the only shirt I have."
"It is linen," she said. "Where is the little knife?" Her eyes were on the men ahead.
"Under my shirt, in my belt, where you put it," he said. "But I shall not use that yet."
They walked on.
"Do not hurry, and do not lag," he said warningly.
"Si," she whispered. "Ah, my love, there are so many! But mayhap it is better that way."
"It is," he said, glancing down at her. "Five or ten men would be worse than fifty. The odds will be so great against me, Lola, that—" There wasn't time to say more. There were more than fifty men only twenty feet in front of them. Five steady paces decreased the distance to less than fifteen.
The tide was almost at its ebb. The beach was wide, but still David could not pass around the group of men without going down into the water. He walked forward, not changing his stride or his direction.
At ten feet, one man spoke, stepping forward a little. "Did you come back for Lola?" he asked. He met David.
David stopped. The men were staring at him speculatively. He saw he had surprised them; they were wondering what he was going to do. Lola stood calm and straight by his side. But other men had come to them, a semicircle of them.
The first man grinned mockingly. "It's the Captain's brother!" His voice pretended great surprise.
"Curse me if it isn't!" The answering seaman was a big bearded Spaniard who boasted a pair of boots. His black eyes fastened on David, and his smile disappeared. "I'd like to kill you with my bare hands," he said.
David answered in his fluent Spanish. "I doubt if you could," he said.
At David's words, two other men took menacing steps forward. The big Spaniard shoved one away with a rough push. Again he faced David; he started to speak, but David interrupted.
"If we're going to fight," he said, "then let the señorita leave us."
Lola raised her head high. She stood proudly at his side, waiting
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for the reply. But the big Spaniard said nothing; he kept his black eyes fixed on David.
"In any case," David went on, "it would be best that the señorita leave."
Lola swept David a curtsey. "Adios, my lord," she said.
"Adios," he said, turning his head to see her go. He waited while she walked away unhurriedly. When she was twenty feet away, he turned back to the Spaniard.
"Now," he said.
They had edged closer, all of them. "Let's hang him!" one man said, from the rear, and one very young boy said, "Maybe we ought to take him to Captain Flores, Sebastian."
The big Spaniard said, "Shut your mouth! I'll take him to Flores. Later. Look out there, Englishman!" He jerked his thumb in the direction of the Santa Anna. "Look at her! You dirty whoreson English!"
"I am looking," said David calmly. "Your name is Sebastian? Well, Sebastian, I'm thinking we can do something about her."
Sebastian was too amazed to answer.
"Have you been out there?" David asked.
Sebastian looked again at the Santa Anna. She was burning almost to the waterline, and thick smoke curled from her.
"Have you been out there?" David repeated. He, too, stared out at the smoking ship. "It might be possible," he said. "Take me out there."
"Go out there?" Sebastian asked. "Aboard her?"
"Take me out, and I'll go aboard."
"What'll you do?" Sebastian asked.
"I'll show you," David said. "I want to go aboard."
Sebastian looked at him the same way David had seen men look at Cavendish. With an incredulous, hopeful belief in their eyes.
"Si, caballero," Sebastian said. "Immediatamente!"
There was a ship's boat pulled up on the beach. Sebastian ran to it, calling out a jumble of names. One was the name of the young boy who had spoken in defense of David.
David waded out into the water and climbed in the bow. "Give way," he said to Sebastian.
"Si." Sebastian pulled at the oars. His wits were working as fast as his arms. "You were right, señor," he said. "We did nothing. We watched!"
"There may still be time," David said, over his shoulder. He
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was standing in the bow; behind him the Spanish pulled steadily at the oars, ten men, one to each oar. David reached inside his shirt and pulled out the little knife.
The Santa Anna was coming nearer. Smoke obscured her; the wind dropped a little, smoke hung over her sides, and then blew away, and then curtained her again. David heard the ominous crackle of her woods; he saw flickering tongues of flame shooting up through the dense smoke. He made out her shape. He saw her bows clearly.
"Sebastian," he said.
"Si, señor." Sebastian's answer was slow. Despair clouded his face again as he saw the wreck of his ship coming nearer. "She is gone!" he said.
David paid no attention. The blackened remains of the stem-castle were like a piled jumble of sooty ruin, but the bulwarks were still there.
"I see a ladder," said David. "Was that ladder iron?"
"Si," Sebastian said.
"Good," said David. "Pull to it."
A gust of wind blew smoke at them. David squinted his eyes. He was still standing, and he was conscious of his height; he was glad of it. He looked down at the knife in his hand; he saw the muscled bare arm with satisfaction, and out of the past he heard Cavendish say, "By God, David, you're as tall as I am, if you'd stand straight." How many years ago had that been? Eight, probably. How fast the time had gone. Now he was alone. The Desire was gone. David put the knife in his belt. The Santa Anna was dead ahead; the ladder was only a few feet away.