“So you think that you will not squirm and squeal, eh?” Barbados taunted. “In a very few minutes we’ll learn the truth concerning that.”
“You promised me the fray,” Don Audre Ruiz replied. “But I did not think that a pirate could keep his given word.”
“Ha! I’ll show you that I can play at having gentle blood!” Barbados laughed. “Matter of honor, eh? The fray! Fetch me the old fray, some of you!”
The dancing and drinking was continued, and more fuel was heaped around the stake and its victim. A few feet distant stood a man with a flaming torch. Barbados, his arms folded across his chest, stood waiting to give the word. And after a time old Fray Felipe thrust his way among them and reached the side of the pirate chief.
“What is this that you would do?” he demanded.
“We intend to broil this caballero until he is done properly,” Barbados replied. “Being a pious soul, he has need of a priest before he dies. So we have sent for you.”
Fray Felipe knew that there was small chance for an argument here. Ordinarily Barbados was exceedingly superstitious where a man of the church was concerned, but now wine had given him a false courage. If Fray Felipe saved Don Audre Ruiz now it would not be through an appeal to the heart of Barbados.
And so Fray Felipe did a peculiar thing—a thing that startled them all, and Don Audre most of all. He threw back his gray head and laughed.
Barbados blinked his eyes rapidly, and Sanchez swore softly beneath his breath. Had the fray gone insane suddenly? Were his wits wandering? It was a horrible thing to see an old fray laugh like that.
“So it is as I suspected,” Fray Felipe declared. “I had thought for a moment, Barbados, that you were a pirate leader in truth, a general with brains. But you play the boy.”