Wentyard, despite his slaked thirst and full belly, was at the point where he had a desperate indifference to consequences. His world seemed to have crumbled about him. He had led his men into a trap to see them butchered; he had seen his prisoner escape; he was caught like a caged rat himself; the wealth he had lusted after and dreamed about had been proved a lie. Worn out with vain ragings against his fate, he slept.
The sun was high when he awoke and sat up with a startled oath. Black Vulmea stood looking down at him.
--amn!--Wentyard sprang up, snatching at his sword. His mind was a riot of maddening emotions, but physically he was a new man, and nerved to a rage that was tinged with near-insanity.
--ou dog!--he raved.--o the Indians didn't catch you on the cliffs!----hose red dogs?--Vulmea laughed.--They didn't follow me past the Gateway. They don't come on the cliffs overlooking these ruins. They--e got a cordon of men strung through the jungle, surrounding this place, but I can get through any time I want to. I cooked your breakfast--and mine--right under their noses, and they never saw me.----y breakfast!--Wentyard glared wildly.--ou mean it was you brought water and food for me?----ho else?----ut--but why?--Wentyard was floundering in a maze of bewilderment.
Vulmea laughed, but he laughed only with his lips. His eyes were burning.--ell, at first I thought it would satisfy me if I saw you get an arrow through your guts. Then when you broke away and got in here, I said,--etter still! They--l keep the swine there until he starves, and I--l lurk about and watch him die slowly.--I knew they wouldn't come in after you. When they ambushed me and my crew in the ravine, I cut my way through them and got in here, just as you did, and they didn't follow me in. But I got out of here the first night. I made sure you wouldn't get out the way I did that time, and then settled myself to watch you die. I could come or go as I pleased after nightfall, and you-- never see or hear me.----ut in that case, I don't see why--
--ou probably wouldn't understand!--snarled Vulmea.--ut just watching you starve wasn't enough. I wanted to kill you myself--I wanted to see your blood gush, and watch your eyes glaze!--The Irishman't voice thickened with his passion, and his great hands clenched until the knuckles showed white.--nd I didn't want to kill a man half-dead with want. So I went back up into the jungle on the cliffs and got water and fruit, and knocked a monkey off a limb with a stone, and roasted him. I brought you a good meal and set it there in the door while you were sitting outside the ruins. You couldn't see me from where you were sitting, and of course you didn't hear anything. You English are all dull-eared.----nd it was you who stole my pistols last night!--muttered Wentyard, staring at the butts jutting from Vulmea's Spanish girdle.
--ye! I took them from the floor beside you while you slept. I learned stealth from the Indians of North America. I didn't want you to shoot me when I came to pay my debt. While I was getting them I heard somebody sneaking up outside, and saw a black man coming toward the doorway. I didn't want him to be robbing me of my revenge, so I stuck my cutlass through him. You awakened when he howled, and ran out, as you--l remember, but I stepped back around the corner and in at another door. I didn't want to meet you except in broad open daylight and you in fighting trim.----hen it was you who spied on me from the inner door,--muttered Wentyard.--ou whose shadow I saw just before the moon sank behind the cliffs.----ot I!--Vulmea's denial was genuine.--didn't come down into the ruins until after moonset, when I came to steal your pistols. Then I went back up on the cliffs, and came again just before dawn to leave your food.----ut enough of this talk!--he roared gustily, whipping out his cutlass.---- mad with thinking of the Galway coast and dead men kicking in a row, and a rope that strangled me! I--e tricked you, trapped you, and now I-- going to kill you!-- Wentyard-- face was a ghastly mask of hate, livid, with bared teeth and glaring eyes.
--og!--with a screech he lunged, trying to catch Vulmea off-guard.
But the cutlass met and deflected the straight blade, and Wentyard bounded back just in time to avoid the decapitating sweep of the pirate-- steel. Vulmea laughed fiercely and came on like a storm, and Wentyard met him with a drowning man't desperation.
Like most officers of the British navy, Wentyard was proficient in the use of the long straight sword he carried. He was almost as tall as Vulmea, and though he looked slender beside the powerful figure of the pirate, he believed that his skill would offset the sheer strength of the Irishman.
He was disillusioned within the first few moments of the fight. Vulmea was neither slow nor clumsy. He was as quick as a wounded panther, and his sword-play was no less crafty than Wentyard--. It only seemed so, because of the pirate-- furious style of attack, showering blow on blow with what looked like sheer recklessness. But the very ferocity of his attack was his best defense, for it gave his opponent no time to launch a counter-attack.
The power of his blows, beating down on Wentyard-- blade, rocked and shook the Englishman to his heels, numbing his wrist and arm with their impact. Blind fury, humiliation, naked fright combined to rob the captain of his poise and cunning. A stamp of feet, a louder clash of steel, and Wentyard-- blade whirred into a corner. The Englishman reeled back, his face livid, his eyes like those of a madman.
--ick up your sword!--Vulmea was panting, not so much from exertion as from rage. Wentyard did not seem to hear him.
--ah!--Vulmea threw aside his cutlass in a spasm of disgust.--an't you even fight? I--l kill you with my bare hands!-- He slapped Wentyard viciously first on one side of the face and then on the other. The Englishman screamed wordlessly and launched himself at the pirate-- throat, and Vulmea checked him with a buffet in the face and knocked him sprawling with a savage smash under the heart. Wentyard got to his knees and shook the blood from his face, while Vulmea stood over him, his brows black and his great fists knotted.
--et up!--muttered the Irishman thickly.--et up, you hangman of peasants and children!-- Wentyard did not heed him. He was groping inside his shirt, from which he drew out something he stared at with painful intensity.
--et up, damn you, before I set my boot-heels on your face--
Vulmea broke off, glaring incredulously. Wentyard, crouching over the object he had drawn from his shirt, was weeping in great, racking sobs.
--hat the hell!--Vulmea jerked it away from him, consumed by wonder to learn what could bring tears from John Wentyard. It was a skillfully painted miniature. The blow he had struck Wentyard had cracked it, but not enough to obliterate the soft gentle faces of a pretty young woman and child which smiled up at the scowling Irishman.
--ell, I-- damned!--Vulmea stared from the broken portrait in his hand to the man crouching miserably on the floor.--our wife and daughter?-- Wentyard, his bloody face sunk in his hands, nodded mutely. He had endured much within the last night and day. The breaking of the portrait he always carried over his heart was the last straw; it seemed like an attack on the one soft spot in his hard soul, and it left him dazed and demoralized.
Vulmea scowled ferociously, but it somehow seemed forced.
-- didn't know you had a wife and child,--he said almost defensively.
--he lass is but five years old,--gulped Wentyard.--haven't seen them in nearly a year. My God, what-- to become of them now? A navy captain't pay is none so great. I--e never been able to save anything. It was for them I sailed in search of Van Raven and his treasure. I hoped to get a prize that would take care of them if aught happened to me. Kill me!--he cried shrilly, his voice cracking at the highest pitch.--ill me and be done with it, before I lose my manhood with thinking of them, and beg for my life like a craven dog!-- But Vulmea stood looking down at him with a frown. Varying expressions crossed his dark face, and suddenly he thrust the portrait back in the Englishman't hand.