"That there was one on the deck of the sloop--an English beauty. It
was when you turned to greet her that you gave me the signal. I merely
thought that perhaps--"

"Then stop thinking," burst forth Sanchez enraged. "Thinking has
nothing to do with your work. If there is a girl, I attend to her. Let
that suffice. Dios! am I chief here, or are you? You have my orders,
now obey them, and hold your tongue. Bring the men up here."

Without a word, evidently glad to escape thus easily, Estada vanished
into the gloom, leaving behind only the vague figure of Sanchez pacing
the sands, his lips muttering curses. I dared not move, scarcely
indeed to breathe, so closely did he skirt my covert. To venture forth
would mean certain discovery; nor could I hope to steal away through
the bushes, where any twig might snap beneath my foot. What could I
do? How could I bring warning to those sleeping victims? This
heartless discussion of robbery and murder left me cold with horror,
yet helpless to lift a hand. I had no thought of myself, of my
possible fate when once delivered into the hands of this monster, this
arch villain, but all my agony of mind centered on the imminent danger
confronting Dorothy Fairfax, and those unsuspecting men. All my
preconceived impressions of Sanchez had vanished; he was no longer in
my imagination a weakling, a boastful, cowardly bravado, a love-sick
fool; but a leader of desperate men, a villain of the deepest dye--the
dreaded pirate, Black Sanchez, whose deeds of crime were without
number, and whose name was infamous. Confronted by Fairfax's
ill-guarded gold, maddened by the girl's contemptuous indifference, no
deed of violence and blood was too revolting for him to commit. What
he could not win by words, he would seize by force and make his own.
As coolly as another might sell a bolt of cloth, he would plan murder