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The schooner’s helmsman gave himself to God, while the cordage overhead began to whine as the deck rose. It was upon the Haytian’s lips to warn his pursuers off when one of them called to the girl, bidding her leap. Inocencio heard the breath catch in her throat, but she made no move, and the command was repeated.

This time she answered by some exclamation that he did not understand, whereat the canoemen ceased paddling, as if her word had paralyzed them. They hurled their voices at her savagely, but she remained motionless, the while the waters beneath her began to foam and bubble. The Espirita’s crew ceased their prayers, and in the silence that ensued the sea whispered at the bow as the craft listed more heavily under the full force of the wind.

Inocencio could not fathom the meaning of the subdued colloquy among the San Blas men, so he shouted a warning, but, strangely enough, they made no answer. They only crouched, with paddles motionless, staring at the dimming figures facing them, until the Espirita, “wing and wing” ahead of the trades, was no larger than a seagull. As yet they had not learned of the other tragedy hidden in the shadow of the palms; had they suspected what lay weltering at the edge of a trampled moonlit glade behind them, no threat of Inocencio’s, no plea of his new-found woman, could have held them back.

Once the schooner was under way, the Haytian led the girl to the deck-house and thrust her roughly inside, closing the hatch. Then with his own hands he took his craft through the reef and out into the leaping Caribbean. Not until the San Blas coast was a mere charcoal line upon the port quarter and the salt spray was driving high did he deliver over the helm. At last, however, he gave his crew instructions for the night and went below, closing and bolting the hatch behind him. When the smoky lamp that swung between the bunks was lit and its yellow gleam had illumined the interior he saw the girl’s eyes fast upon him. He went toward her across the tilting floor and she arose to meet him, smiling.

II

Senor Bill Williams was in a fine rage. “Didn’t you like your job?” he questioned.

Inocencio shrugged languidly. “Oh yes! The job was good.”

“You knew I’d fire you!”

” Si! “

The American tempered his indignant glare with a hint of curiosity. “You must love that San Blas girl.”

“What do you say?”

“You must love her–better than your job at least?”

” Si, senor. I suppose so.”

“What is she like, Inocencio?”

“Well, she is just like other women. All women are alike–only some are fat. One time I had a female from Martinique, and she acted just the same as this one.”

“Humph! If she is like all the others, what the devil made you–do it?”

“Senor, you have plenty of money, and yet one night I saw you bet two thousand pesos on the rouge. Why did you do that, eh?”

“That is altogether different.”

The Haytian smiled. “I am tired of these females at Colon. They are common people–very common. Then, too, those San Blas people, they are so scared that somebody is going to steal a woman! Maybe if they had left me asleep on shore I would never have noticed no woman at all. But they don’t trust me, so, sure enough–I steal one.”

“And you say she came willingly?” queried Williams, incredulously.

“Oh yes! When her people commanded her to jump from my schooner she refused them. I did not understand at the time, but by an’ by she told me.” He swelled his chest with pride. “I guess she never seen so brave a man as me before. Eh, senor?”

“Humph! I guess I never will sabe you niggers,” acknowledged the American.