“Do you pledge your word to go on with my scheme?”
“That is what I am here for.”
“Take the revolver, then.”
“Sure it’s loaded?”
“Quite sure. I have fifteen extra cartridges, but, as I have practised refilling it in the dark, give it to me if you have occasion to empty it.”
“You seem to have thought this thing out pretty fully?”
“I intend to succeed. Now, please, I must explain what I want Suarez to do.”
Speaking in Spanish, slow and clear, while the canoe drifted steadily up the bay with the rising tide, Elsie unfolded her project. Behind the guardian cliff of Otter Creek a ridge of rocks created a small natural harbor. It was the custom of the Alaculofs, when the weather was calm, and they meant to use their craft at daybreak, to anchor most of their vessels in this sheltered break-water. At other times the canoes were drawn ashore, but she reasoned that such a precaution would not be taken during the present excitement. That was the first part of her program—to capture the entire fleet, including the life-boat. In any event, she intended to go next to the hidden cleft at the foot of Guanaco Hill, trusting to the dog’s sagacity to reveal the retreat where she believed that her lover and many of his men were hidden. If a squad of Indians mounted guard there, the reappearance of Suarez in his war paint, backed by the alarm of a night attack from the sea, might mystify the enemy sufficiently to permit of a landing, while the frequent reports of the revolver would certainly lead to a counter demonstration by Courtenay. Suarez was the only man on the Kansas who could act as guide, and the penalty of his refusal would be instant death. She had provided a strong, sharp knife to cut the thongs which fastened the canoes to their anchor-stones. For the rest, she trusted to the darkness. It was her fixed resolve to succeed or die.
Gray listened to the girl’s cool statement with growing admiration. The plan began to look feasible. It came within the bounds of reason. The odds were against it, of course, but the law of probability is seldom in favor of a forlorn hope. Suarez, too, making the best of a situation which gave him no option, agreed that they had a fair chance if once they got hold of the canoes. Nevertheless, he warned them that he knew nothing of the surroundings of Guanaco Hill. He believed there were no reefs on that side of the inlet, but he had never visited it. Their greatest peril lay amid the almost impenetrable trees which grew down to the water’s edge. On his advice, Gray unshipped the mast and threw it overboard. Then silence became imperative. If aught were said, they must speak in the merest whisper.
The canoe darted forward again with stealthy haste. The night was clear, though dark. The stars helped them to distinguish the outlines of the shore now coming rapidly nearer. As they crept round the southern cheek of Point Kansas, the Argentine ceased paddling, and placed a warning hand on Gray’s arm. The cliff was so high and steep that its shadow plunged into deepest gloom the water at its base. Suarez, however, had imbibed a good deal of savage lore during his enforced residence on the island. He stretched well forward over the bows, held a paddle as far in front as possible, and thus not only guided the drifting canoe by an occasional dip of the blade, but trusted to it for warning of any unseen rock.