"I was in command of ships for four years, Senor; naturally I know navigation."
"Do you mind if I test you?"
"Not in the least; although it will have to be in English; as I do not know the Spanish sea terms."
"Let that go then; I will soon learn if you have lied, and that will be a sorry day for you. I'll tell you, Gates, how matters stand aboard, and why I have need of your skill. Then you may take your choice—the forecastle, or the cabin?"
"You invite me aft, Senor?"
"I give you a chance to move your dunnage, if you will do my work," he explained seriously. "Listen now. Sanchez has been badly hurt. It may be weeks before he leaves his cabin, if, indeed, he ever does. That leaves me in command with but one officer, the mulatto, LeVere. This might answer to take us safely to Porto Grande, as we could stand watch and watch, but Francois is no sailor. It was his part on board to train and lead the fighting men—he cannot navigate. Saint Christopher! I fear to leave him alone in charge of the deck while I snatch an hour's sleep."
"I see," I admitted. "And yourself, Senor? You are a seaman?"
He hated to confess, yet my eyes were honest, and met his squarely.
"Enough to get along, but not quite sure as to my figures. I have taken no sights, except as we came north, on this trip. 'Tis for this reason I need you—but you will play me no smart English trick, my man, or I'll have you by the heels at once. I know enough to verify your figures."
"I thought of no trick, Estada." I said coldly, now satisfied as to his purpose, and confident of my own power. "English, or otherwise. It is well we understand each other. You would have me as navigator, very well—at what terms?"