"You'll be sure to wake us then?" asked Kenneth.
"Certainly."
The chums needed no second bidding. They were feeling the reaction of the previous few hours, which, combined with the lack of sufficient sleep, had made them feel decidedly worn out.
With the first flush of dawn, the sleepers were aroused. Cautiously the four emerged from their retreat and surveyed the island in the direction of the huts. All was quiet.
They then made their way towards the cliff from the top of which a clear view of the inner harbour was obtainable.
"There's the boat!" exclaimed Peter.
Looking in the direction of Arkendale's outstretched hand the others could see the missing boat. She had floated off on the top of an extraordinary spring tide, and had drifted across the circular basin. The receding waters had left her high and dry on a fairly flat-topped ledge of rocks, within twenty or thirty yards of the deep natural cutting that formed the approach to the secret harbour. To get to her by water meant a detour of nearly a mile and a quarter, ending with a scramble down the cliffs and the risk of a hundred yards' swim in water now known to be the haunt of at least one ferocious shark.
"We'll have to get her soon or the pirates will spot her," declared Kenneth. "It's a pity she's there, 'cause our water and provisions are on this side of the harbour."
"Lucky for us she's there at all," said Peter. "Our best plan, I think, is to get the boat afloat, bring her back and load up here."
The four set out. Provided they could cross the open expanse bordering the track between the pier and the huts, they were sheltered from observation in that direction for almost the entire distance. On the other hand the pirates, aware of the escape of the prisoners, would doubtless be keeping a strict watch upon the landing-place. In fact, Mr. Heatherington remarked upon their apparent lack of enterprise in neglecting to send an armed guard down to the harbour already.
In single file the adventurers made their way through the coco-groves and across the boulder-encumbered barren ground, until they descended almost to the level of the path. Kenneth led the way, choosing a sheltered track between two almost parallel ledges of old lava rock, which terminated in a six-feet drop upon the actual roadway.
Suddenly Kenneth halted and held up his hand The others stood stockstill until the guide motioned them to proceed cautiously.
Then he pointed over the edge of a rock.
Ten feet beneath them was the villain Lopez.
He was sitting on the ground with his shoulders hunched and his arms clasping his knees. His head was bent, his eyes fixed upon the dry sand at his feet. It was hardly the attitude of a hunted man.
Well beyond reach of his hand and resting with its muzzle against a rock was the rifle he had taken from the unfortunate sentry. Close to it were four leather cartridge pouches bulging with ammunition—a thing that struck Kenneth as being decidedly significant.
The pirate was bare-headed. His red shirt was turned down at the neck and up at the sleeves. Just below the left shoulder was a dark stain that was hardly distinguishable from the colour of his soiled and ragged clothing.
"He's tried to stop a bullet," thought Kenneth.
The four exchanged glances. Here was a problem that required careful handling. They could not trust Lopez, especially as he had a small magazine of cartridges and a rifle. The affair looked like developing into a three-cornered contest between Lopez, the other pirates, and the four Britons. No doubt Lopez would be agreeable to a temporary alliance with Mr. Heatherington's party; but the presence of the villain would be a source of continual anxiety. Even if they succeeded in getting clear of the island, they would feel it their moral duty to take Lopez with them, away from the vengeance of Mendoza and the crew of the Paloma; but what then? In a civilized country Lopez would be brought to trial. Would he risk his neck? Hardly. The chances were that he would seize the first opportunity of murdering the Englishmen, and attempt to hide himself in one of the South American republics.
Holding the revolver handy in case of resistance, Mr. Heatherington raised his head and shoulders above the intervening ledge of rock, and called the pirate by name.
Lopez looked up listlessly. He seemed utterly worn out. His sallow features were drawn, his eyes blood-shot. Dust and dry blood matted his face and hair.
"Finished!" he exclaimed in a harsh, croaking voice. "Finished! Lopez has won the fight. Pirates up there all dead. Lopez shot them."
"Good heavens!" muttered Mr. Heatherington involuntarily.
It was one solution to a part of a tangle of difficult problems upon which he had not reckoned. Lopez, armed with the rifle taken from the gagged and bound sentry, had surprised the rest of the pirates in their sleeping quarters. Apparently resistance had been made, but taken by surprise the rascals had fallen victims to their compatriot's deadly skill with a magazine-rifle.
"Wounded—badly," added Lopez listlessly.
Need for further concealment for the present at an end, the four descended the low cliff and gathered round the Spaniard.
"It's slight," declared Mr. Heatherington, after a brief examination of a clean puncture of the pirate's left arm. "You'll be all right in a few days, especially if we can find medical stores, or even a first-aid outfit up there."
Lopez shook his head.
"That is nothing," he declared. "This is what matters."
He pointed to a small dark stain just above his belt. Quickly Mr. Heatherington examined the tiny dark blue mark, where a bullet had entered the man's body just below his ribs. He realized that nothing could be done: Lopez was mortally wounded. He was bleeding internally.
"I die," said the Spaniard. "I know it. Ramon, he fired the shot. Ramon is dead. Now Lopez die and Mendoza still lives."
Ten minutes later, Lopez had gone to his last account. Almost to the end he muttered regrets that Mendoza had escaped his vengeance. That was his sole concern, and with a curse on his lips against the pirate captain of the Paloma, Lopez died.
"Another villain the less," said Gregory. "And he took good care to send a crowd of black-hearted ruffians on ahead to pipe the side for him."
"And we have the island to ourselves," declared Kenneth.
"Until the Paloma returns," added the cautious Peter.
"The sooner we clear out the better," said his chum. "Come on, let's get the boat back to the beach. We can provision her with anything we want from the store, and make a start well before sunset."
The four were now in high spirits. They were able to walk with freedom. No longer had they to crouch and move like hunted animals. They were, temporarily at least, lords and masters of an island domain. The two chums ran, leapt, and shouted with sheer exuberance of youth from which a heavy load had been lifted.
To reach the spot nearest to the boat they were obliged to take to the top of the cliffs, as the beach ended abruptly at a short distance from the pier. Beyond that the wall of rock rose sheer from the water.
At length the adventurers arrived at the summit of the highest of a series of hills from which a view to seaward could be obtained.
It was Captain Gregory's experienced eyesight that detected a faint smudge of smoke on the otherwise unbroken horizon.
"There's a vessel making for the island!" he declared.
The others looked first at the smoke and then at each other.
"P'raps it's a craft passing a long way out," suggested Peter.
"Let's hope so," added Kenneth.
Gregory made no remark until he had watched the smoke for some time.
"She's making this way," he announced. "The smoke's going up pretty straight. It's a craft end on to us."