Sanchez was a smaller edition of Barbados, the evil lieutenant of an evil chief. He was short and thick, and many a man had misjudged the strength of his shoulders and arms and had discovered his sorry error too late. The eyes of Sanchez glittered also, first as he looked at Barbados, and then turned, as the chief had, to glance toward the distant land.
A fair land it was, bathed in the mellow light of the moon. Along the shore uncertain shadows played, like shapeless fairies at a game. And here was a darker streak, where a cañon ran down to the sea—a cañon with black depths caused by the rank undergrowth and stubby trees.
“There!” Barbados bellowed. He pointed toward the mouth of the cañon, where the water hissed white against a jumble of rocks. “We go ashore there, against the cliffs!”
Again there was no regular command, but the course of the pirate craft was changed a little, and she sailed slowly toward the spot Barbados had indicated. The chief grunted once more, and Sanchez hurried quickly to his side.
“We land twoscore men!” Barbados commanded. “Twoscore will be enough. I lead them, and you are to go with me. The others will remain aboard and take the ship off shore again, and return to-morrow night two hours before the dawn.”
“Sí!” Sanchez said.
“’Tis to be a pretty party, by the saints! Rich loot, food and wines, honey and olives, gold and jewels and precious stones! Bronze native wenches for such as like them! And time enough for it, eh? Ha! For some four months we have sailed up and down the coast, now and then landing and raiding to get a few pigs and cows. ’Tis time for a bold stroke! And this—”
“It is arranged?” Sanchez questioned.
“Am I in the habit of rushing in where things are not arranged?” Barbados demanded. “Señor Pirate, do you take me to be a weak and silly fool?”
“If I did,” Sanchez replied, “I would have more wit than to say so to your face!”