“Yes,” said Diego, who understood him, “if she comes back, she will go there.”
“And will not go hunting around for us,” suggested Juan.
“Why should she?” said Diego, and they both fell into a silence.
“Diego,” said Juan presently, in a startled tone, “I think—”
“Well, what do you think?” demanded Diego, glancing around in alarm.
“I think the flood tide is taking us inshore,” answered Juan.
And so it was of a certainty. Diego did not turn pale; for he was already that, but he showed in his eyes how he dreaded such a thing. Then he put his hand on the sailor’s knife which was in its sheath by his side, and said, with a half-sob:
“I will fight till I die.”
“And I,” said Juan. Then hope whispered courage, and he said quickly; “but we may get ashore undiscovered, and be able to make our way to the mountain yonder. Then, if the ship does come back—”
“It will. It certainly will,” said Diego, catching eagerly at the hope.