While they were examining the fuse-hole, Ratcliffe took notice of the cuts radiating starlike from the charge-hole that had been made in the deck-casing. When he turned again, Satan, with the aid of Sellers, had fixed the fuse. The Spanish sailors who had been at work had taken their departure and were already down by the boats, leaving only four men on the wreck,—Satan, Sellers, Cleary and himself.
Satan rose up, clapped the knees of his trousers as if to knock dust off them, and produced a yellow box of Swedish matches from his pocket.
“Look here!” said Ratcliffe. “It’s not fair. Let’s draw lots who’ll fire the thing.”
“Not me,” said Satan. “I wouldn’t trust one of them two with a box of matches, let alone a dollar. Now then, scatter for the boats!”
Then to Ratcliffe, as Sellers and Cleary made off, “Stand by ready to shove the dinghy off when you see me coming.”
“All right,” said the other; “but I’ll stick by you if you like.”
“I reckon two don’t run quicker than one,” said Satan. “Off with you, and, if I’m blown to blazes, look after the kid.”
When Ratcliffe reached the strip of beach the boats of the Juan and Natchez had shoved off. He could see the figure of Carquinez at the after rail of the Juan and Jude watching from the Sarah. He pulled the dinghy down a bit more to the water and then, turning, looked at the wreck.
Satan was standing against the skyline, now he was down on his knees, and now he was up again. The fuse had evidently been fired, but he did not move; stood evidently looking to see that it was burning properly, and then moved off, walking, not running, and not even hurrying himself.
Then he came clambering over the rocks, reached the dinghy, and they pushed off.