Satan came on deck. Across the blue blaze of the sea they could hear now the clank of the windlass pawls,—the Juan’s anchor was coming up.
“I thought Sellers would have come on board before they started,” said Ratcliffe. “They’re in a big hurry, aren’t they?”
“You bet,” said Satan with a grin. “He’ll crack on everything to get to Havana for that dynamite; won’t stop to eat their dinners till they’re back,—that’s what they’d have us believe—swabs!”
“Why, don’t you think they are going to Havana?”
“Oh, they’re goin’ to Havana right enough,” said Satan. “You watch and you’ll see them headin’ that way. Look! she’s fillin’ to the wind.”
The anchor was home now, and they watched the sails filling as she headed on the same course the Dryad had taken. She dipped her flag, and they returned the compliment; then she drew past the southern reefs, the hull vanished, and nothing remained but the topsails far against the western blue.
Ten minutes later, down below at dinner, Jude, who had said no word about the departure of the Juan, but seemed to have been thinking a lot, suddenly spoke.
“You never told me that chap was going to Havana for dynamite,” said Jude. “What for—to bust the wreck open?”
“That’s it,” replied Satan. “Did you think he wanted it to eat?”
“There’s no knowing what a feller may swallow, seeing you’ve swallowed that yarn,” said Jude. “He’s gone to Havana to sell us, that’s my ’pinion.”