The three Spaniards threw themselves down at some distance from the slaves and lolled negligently against the trees. The wood-cutters plied their axes, sturdily, monotonously, never speaking, their faces expressing nothing but a sullen despair. Dennis fixed his eyes on the white man, and felt an eager longing to hear him speak. One word would be enough to show whether he was indeed an Englishman. But the man was as silent as the rest, and nothing was heard save the ring of the axes and the voices of the Spaniards conversing.
Five trees lay upon the ground; the warders rose to drive the staples into others. It appeared that time hung heavy on their hands. Some demon of mischief suggested to one of them a means of obtaining a little diversion. His proposal was received with shouts of laughter by his companions. Dennis did not understand what was said, but the meaning was soon made plain. The three men drew lots with three twigs of unequal length, and placed themselves by the side of three slaves—the white man and two Indians—as fate determined. Again they drew lots, and proceeded to fasten their men to three new trees. The other two Indians were set to strip the trunks already felled. It was soon evident that the Spaniards' amusement was to be had at the expense of the wood-cutters. They pooled a number of pieces of eight; the Spaniard whose man first felled his tree was to take the stakes.
The three men set to work, the warders standing over them with their whips. The faces of the Indians wore their wonted look of dull apathy; but Dennis saw the lips of the white man tighten, and a grim scowl darken his brow. The sport commenced. Excited by their gamble, the Spaniards urged on their men with loud cries. For some minutes the two Indians smote the trees with feverish energy; the white man plied his axe with measured strokes, neither slower nor faster than before. The warders became more and more excited, and from cries proceeded to blows. One of the Indians flagged, and to stimulate him the Spaniard behind dealt him a savage blow with his whip, and the poor cowed wretch laid on with greater vigour. Hidden in the bush Dennis nervously clutched his sword and felt the blood surge into his cheeks. Fine sport, indeed! The other Spaniards, not to be outdone, began to belabour the backs of their men also, and Dennis, seeing great weals rise on the bare flesh, could scarcely control the impulse to dash at all costs from his hiding-place to the aid of the suffering men. He saw the face of the white man pale beneath the sun-tan and the red stains; perchance the Spaniard would have had a qualm if he had seen the fury his features expressed. But he did not see it; with callous levity he shouted, and brought his whip down with a sickening crack upon the broad red-streaked back.
Then, with a suddenness that took Dennis's breath away, the white man's pent-up rage burst its bounds. At the end of his endurance, he swung round with a nimbleness surprising in a man of his bulk, and flung his axe with unerring aim at his tormentor. The man fell among the logs. In a second, before the other Spaniards had time to recover from the shock of this unheard-of audacity, one of the Indians at work on the fallen tree hurled his weapon at the warder nearest him, and struck him headlong to the ground. The third man had sufficient command of his wits to take to his heels and scamper away.
The wood-cutters were between him and the shore, and the direction of his flight was towards the thicket in which Dennis stood, all tingling with the excitement of this amazing change of scene. He gripped his sword; but the Spaniard stopped short within a few yards of the bushes, uttered a furious oath, and turning about, kindled his match, preparing to shoot at the slaves, who were hacking with frenzied haste at the staples that held them to the trees. The two Indians who were free were hobbling towards the woodland on the other side, appalled by their own temerity. Dennis heard the Spaniard chuckle as he raised his caliver. The man knew full well that, even if the woodmen succeeded in breaking loose, he would have time to shoot them down one by one, hobbled as they were.
Dennis could no longer remain inactive. An enemy of the Spaniards, whatever his colour, was a friend of his. He could not see the poor wretches slaughtered. For an instant he thought of kindling his own match and firing at the Spaniard, who was within easy range. Then, changing his mind, he pushed aside the bushes, sprang into the open, and leapt over the ground with the lightness of a panther. The Spaniard heard his movements and swung round; Dennis saw the startled look of terror in his eyes. Taken aback, he had no time to ward off the musket stock of this assailant who had sprung as it were out of the earth. His cry of alarm was stifled in his throat, and under the blow dealt him with all the force of honest rage he dropped senseless to the ground.
CHAPTER VII
Amos Turnpenny
Dennis felt his limbs tremble as he stepped round the fallen body and went forward. The white man and the biggest of the Indians had already released themselves, and stood as though rooted to the ground with amazement.