"What sayest thou to that, sweet Mercedes?"
"I say may God have mercy on the soul of yon poor woman," answered Mercedes disdainfully.
"Best pray for thine own soul, madam," he roared. "Come hither! What, you move not? Black Dog, Black Dog, I say!"
The huge maroon lurched from behind his master's chair, where he had lain half-drunken.
"Fetch me that woman!"
Mercedes was bound and could not at first release her hands, but as the maroon shambled toward her she sprang back struggling.
"Alvarado, Alvarado!" she screamed. "Help me, save me!"
Like a maddened bull, though his hands were bound also, Alvarado threw himself upon the negro. The force with which he struck him hurled him backward and the two fell to the floor, the maroon beneath. His head struck a corner of the step with a force that would have killed a white man. In an instant, however, the unbound negro was on his feet. He whipped out his dagger and would have plunged it into the breast of the prostrate Spaniard had not Mercedes, lightly bound, for being a woman they thought it not necessary to be unusually severe in her lashings, wrenched free her hands and caught the half-breed's upraised arm.
"Mercy!" she screamed, while struggling to divert the blow, looking toward Morgan.
"Hold your hand, Black Dog," answered that worthy. "Leave the man and come hither. This is thy first appeal, lady. You know my power at last, eh? Down on your knees and beg for his life!"