She held him masterfully; her voice was stern in her command to him to lie still. And he looked up at her with an incredulous glance in which humor had its part. He smiled—a puzzled smile. Suddenly remembrance came back to him and his bewilderment became anxiety.
"The gunboat?" he asked hoarsely. "They saw me, they were slowing down!"
She nodded silently as she looked about her. They had floated within the shadow cast by the towering bulk of the island nearest them. The last red rim of the sun's disc had passed below the horizon. The dusk was gathering. A mile away the gunboat was turning ponderously.
Rapidly she told him what she saw and he nodded a satisfied assent.
"They're done, now," he whispered triumphantly. "We have them in a cleft stick!"
But Fate—listening Fate—shook her head.
It was Muhammed who had taken command of the situation, Muhammed who roared his orders to hoist again the half-lowered sail, to let drift the dingy from the stern, to stand by the halliards for a tack. He leaped upon the tiller and flung the boat's prow round to point directly for the land.
The freshening breeze from the northwest swelled out the great sail as the panting sailors swung the yard aslant the mast. The water sang and bubbled from the prow. The Santa Margarita leaped landwards like a living thing, straight for the cliffs of shadowing stone.
Captain Luigi, completely unnerved by the sudden crisis to which events had soared, wailed protests without attempting interference.
"I call you to witness that I said he had the evil eye!" he cried. "I call you to witness! Capture or destruction—there are no two ways to it!"