"Shut up!" the old one snapped at him.
"An unprincipled scoundrel," she answered evenly, "who's as loathsome as an ape. And I shan't be married to that kind of thing, or any one else. You've had my warning. If you, or he, or any of your beastly men come to this island, you'll get only my dead body. And Echochee, dear soul, is going with me. What's more, if you start any tortures, we'll die before witnessing them."
"Then, by God," he screamed, "you and your damned hag'll begin to starve from this day! With no more provisions sent over we'll see who obeys me! And in three more days if you don't come to your senses I'll crucify an offering to your dead body—head down on the spot I stand!" He had been raving, but now his tone quickly changed to one of whining entreaty, as he added: "I hope you understand how it pains your dear old father to threaten you, my child!"
It was so maudlin an exhibition that I wondered if he were sane.
"Dear old father," she repeated, giving a short laugh of contempt.
I did not know how much of this was real and how much acting on her part, although it did seem genuine enough when she could not be looking for relief. Yet, as she stood there calmly mistress of herself while Efaw Kotee writhed beneath her scorn, I was reminded of an angler who had hooked an ungainly fish—she with intellect at one end, he at the other representing brute strength, fear, cunning; both connected by a barely visible thread that in this case was not a line, but Fate. For another moment she let him writhe, then turned and went in.
Jess laughed.
"Shut up, you clown," the old chief turned on him.
"Clown yourself," the captain snarled. "I'll have you know I won't take any of your lip!"
"Then I back out of our bargain, that's all!"