"Thanks, Senorita—thanks," he began softly, and again bowing before her, cap in hand. "We greet you with due honor aboard the Namur—"
"Enough of that, you coward, you murderer," she broke in coldly. "Do not touch nor speak to me."
She turned her back on him, thus coming face to face with LeVere, who stood enjoying the scene, a wide grin on his dark face, revealing a row of white teeth under a jet-black moustache.
"You, sir—you are an officer?"
"I have charge of the deck."
"Then where am I to go?"
The mulatto, surprised by the sudden question, glanced inquiringly toward Estada, who had already completely lost his sense of humor.
"Go!" the latter growled. "Where is she to go? Why send the wench below. I'll see to her later, and teach her who is the master here. She will not queen it long on these decks, I warrant you. Off with her now, but be back quickly." He leaned out over the rail, sending his gruff voice below. "Send up that chest, you men—careful now not to let it drop overboard. Yes, that's better. Hook on the boat, Manuel, and let her drag; we must get out of here in a hurry. All ready, aloft?"
"Ay, ay, sir."
"Then sheet home; how is it forrard?"