Stumpy Fires the Magazine

"I tell ye the fiend has tricked ye, Stumpy!" the woman cried.

"Tricked me? Have a care how ye talk that way, woman!" Stumpy's voice replied warningly.

"Aye, tricked ye and me and all of us! Even now--come to the cliff, and I'll show ye."

The scrambling of heavy feet could be heard in the gallery as men rushed out in answer. How many men Milo could not determine; but fewer than had followed Stumpy into the forest in chase of their broken foes. The slaves at the treasure-chests paused in their work, alarm on their shining faces, looking ever toward Milo for instructions.

Milo ran back through the great chamber and out by the tunnel to the cliff, peering around for Stumpy and hoping to see the schooner putting back.

Without Dolores he was at a loss; yet he was not ready to leave his charge to be gazed upon by untried eyes. His breast swelled nigh to bursting at sight of the schooner. The Feu Follette was but half a mile away in a straight line from the cliff; she had been tacking against a light breeze and flood tide around the Point, and while she had sailed several miles through the water, she had but just gained past the face of the cliff. And far from returning, she sailed farther and farther away as he watched, nursed with such skill of sheet and helm as proved to Milo's seamanly eye that her people would never return of their free will. And what of Dolores? His condor's vision picked her out as soon as the schooner. Her gleaming arms and shoulders swept rhythmically over and over, cleaving the sea easily and smoothly, her lustrous hair streaming behind her, and the sun glinting brightly from the gold circlet around her head. She was gaining foot by foot, and Milo keenly scrutinized the schooner for signs of surrender. There were none. At the schooner's rail three heads were visible; but Milo knew neither belonged to Venner nor Pearse. That persuaded him that the schooner was unlikely to come back. And the even, tireless manner in which Dolores swam convinced him that she would follow to the end. Yet he would not utterly believe she had deserted him. He glared around for the men whose voices he heard now, raised in anger in chorus with the voices of the woman and her companions. Stumpy stepped out from the grove path with but four men behind him; and they were in sore plight. Stumpy himself dangled an idly swinging sleeve that was stained dark-red to the shoulder. A red sear across his nose and cheek rendered him a demoniacal figure through the powder, smoke and sweat. And his mates were tattered and cut, their shirts bore red splashes to a man; their grimed faces and fiery eyes held the passions of blooded men who see their reward flying from them.