Moira heard him and grasped his meaning. She shot her left hand under my arm.
"God be good to ye, Bob," she whispered. "Sure, I'm yours."
And with the point of Silver's knife I traced a crimson cross upon her palm, certes, the oddest betrothal any couple ever had.
"Mistress O'Donnell is pledged to me," I called as loudly as I could. "Further, we had the word of Captain Flint that no harm should be done to her or any of us."
"Flint's word was no better'n mine," grinned Bones. "'Twas only as Flint had no use for women, but I'm different, and first, I'm goin' to ha' ye caught and flogged, Buckskin, and then I'll cut your ears off for a keepsake like."
He waved his arm carelessly.
"Pull him down, mates. I can't be bothered fightin' a pris'ner."
Several of his cronies made to obey this command; but Silver, Black Dog and a number of others set up a protest.
"Give the Buckskin a fair show," they shouted. "He's put his mark on her. Took her himself, he did, when Murray carried the Santissima Trinidad."
Bones' friends hung back. From the rear ranks of the circle came advice and opinions of all shades. But Silver's faction must have been primed for the incident, for they worked up such a furor in my support that they swayed the general opinion by sheer volume of noise. Silver even raised Moira's hand with the bloody cross upon it and held it up for those behind to see.