“Fool!” Barbados shrieked. “A blade made those cuts.”
“But there was no blade, no man! Out of the dark it came—”
“Think you Señor Zorro is aboard?”
“No man, I say!” Sanchez shrieked. “It was a ghost. There is a ghost aboard. We are doomed—the ship is doomed! The ship’s bell rings—and men are cut—”
“By my naked blade!” Barbados swore. “A sword in the hand of a human made that cut! Do I not bear one myself?”
“But how could this Señor Zorro get aboard?” Sanchez wailed. “It was a ghost!”
The ship’s bell gave forth one more melodious clang! Señor Zorro, on his way to the storeroom and his hiding place, had stopped long enough to hurl another bolt.
CHAPTER X.
A DEAD PIRATE.
Sanchez and some of the others shrieked in terror. Barbados, cursing loudly, strode to the middle of the deck, whirled around, brandished his cutlass as though he would have fought the world. He would not admit to himself that this thing was getting on his nerves, but he glanced anxiously toward the land and wished for the dawn. He drove the men to finish their work, grasped Sanchez roughly by the arm, and led him aside.
“Understand,” he said, “either this Señor Zorro is aboard in some mysterious fashion, or else there is a traitor among us playing this Zorro’s part.”