"Hah, did I sting you there?" resumed Barradas; "well, beware that you do not feel all the bitterness of losing her."
"Losing her?"
"Yes—before our ground-tackle is rove and ready. Take care," continued the mocking ruffian, "that you do not experience the bitterness of seeing a happiness that shall never be yours, ours. Harkee, hombre, can your fair ones swim?"
"Why?" asked Hawkshaw, mechanically.
"We meant to have had some fun with them when we crossed the Line, and shall have it yet. In their dainty white English skins—nothing else, remember—they will look uncommonly pretty floundering alongside, in the belly of a top-gallant studding-sail, won't they—eh?"
"You cannot mean—you dare not!" gasped Hawkshaw.
"Oh, don't be shocked, companero, before that comes to pass, you and some others shall have walked the plank, or been shot endlong, foot foremost, off a grating to leeward. Do you remember the Gulf of Florida, and what we did there to the mate of the Polacca?"
"Will you keep silent?" groaned Hawkshaw.
"Yes—if I am paid for it," grinned the other.
"Of course."