THE man walked off in order that he might not be suspected of offering
assistance to the boys, and they went by separate ways to where Martin
Alonzo was angrily shouting their names. Juan shouted in answer; but
Martin Alonzo did not hear him, and was full of wrath when he saw them
coming out of the wood.
“Had ye so little to do?” he began, and then stopped and exclaimed,
“Holy Virgin! look at their faces!”
The men set up a shout of laughter, for which Juan cared nothing,
having been the victor, but which galled Diego mightily.
“So,” said Martin Alonzo, eying them narrowly, “you have been employing
your time, have you, after all?”
“We filled the casks first,” said Juan, Diego playing the wonderful
part, for him, of sullen silence.
“Well for you you did,” said Martin Alonzo, and with that turned from
them and began ordering the men in sharp tones. The truth was, he was
vexed to see Diego carrying the marks of a beating.
Well, the water was loaded into the boats and they pushed off, Diego
and Juan sitting in their places in silence; though the men had at the
first tried to be merry with them over their fight, and had desisted
only at the peremptory word of Martin Alonzo, who looked as sullen as
Diego’s self.
As for Diego, he had neither eyes nor words for any one; but sat with
his eyes down all the way. He was thinking of many things, and was
having a harder battle with himself than he had had with Juan, and one
that hurt him far more. It was mostly about Juan he was thinking; but
there came occasional thoughts about the Portuguese caravels that were
to stop the voyage.
He thought of Martin Alonzo, too. He knew by the glance his cousin
had given him, and by the tone of his voice, and by his short words
to the men, that he was vexed with him for being beaten, as if he had
expected, as a matter of course, that Diego would be the master in
such a fight. He was grateful for the feeling, but he was resentful
too. Besides, there were other things in his mind, and he was in an
uncertainty what to do.
When they had reached the vessel and the water had been taken aboard
and the boats hoisted to their places, the word was given to the
admiral and sail was set. Diego did his share of the work, watching
his cousin and Juan about equally, and knowing that they were watching
him. Presently Francisco Martin took charge of the ship, and Diego saw
Martin Alonzo beckon him to come apart with him, which he did.
“So,” said Martin Alonzo, brusquely, “you let him whip you.”
“He whipped me,” answered Diego, sullenly.
“Was it a fair fight?”
“Yes, but I didn’t give up; don’t think I did. I would never have done
it.”
“You came out of the wood quietly enough,” said Martin Alonzo,
reasoning that if the fight had been his, he either would have whipped
or been unable to walk away from the place.
“I know it,” said Diego, more sulkily than before.
Martin Alonzo looked disappointed, and kicked the rail viciously.
“Tut!” he said, “when I left you two there, I hoped you would give a
better account of yourself than this.”
“Oh,” said Diego, more mortified than ever, “you expected us to fight?”
“I would like to know,” said Martin Alonzo, “why you did not fight
more.”
“Then you’d better ask him,” answered Diego, and turned away.
He had said nothing about the Portuguese caravels, from which it would
seem that he was willing to have the voyage ended by them. All the
remainder of that day the fleet sailed on for Ferro, and all the time
that he was not eating or working, Diego leaned on the rail and moodily
watched the island of Gomera fade into distance.
Juan was as gay as Diego was dull, and received the congratulations of
Miguel and a few of the other sailors in very good spirits. At first
he was inclined to be offensive to Diego, not by any direct affront
to him, but by a little too much ostentation in his high spirits; but
later he was more quiet, and seemed to have dismissed Diego from his
mind.
As for Diego, he no longer looked at Juan, but kept himself to himself
until the coming of night cleared the deck of all except the watch,
in which they both were. Then he watched Juan again until he saw
him standing alone, when he went over to him and touched him on the
shoulder. Juan turned and started.
“Oh,” said he, “you wish me to fight here so that Martin Alonzo will
stop us!”
“No,” answered Diego, breathing hard, as if to keep his anger in check,
“I don’t wish to fight now. I only wish to say something to you. Some
day, perhaps, we shall fight again.”
“I hope so,” answered Juan, with a disagreeable laugh.
“And I hope so,” said Diego, struggling with a sob of rage. He
controlled himself and went on: “What I wished to say was that I
believed you about your being willing to save me from the flogging. If
I had known it before--”
“I tried to tell you once,” said Juan, in an eager, softened tone.
“I know it,” answered Diego, “and it was my fault that you did not. I
said unpleasant things.”
“But it’s all right now,” said Juan, joyously. “Shall we shake hands?”
and he held out his hand, fully expecting Diego to take it.
“No,” answered Diego, “I don’t care to shake hands with you. I want to
fight you. I don’t like you. I was wrong about you, and I had to come
to tell you. If I had known it before I could not have fought you. And
I can’t fight you again if you don’t let me be even with you in some
way.”
“Oh, very well; but you needn’t be so particular,” said Juan. “I’m
ready to fight you at any time.”
“How can I fight you,” said Diego, passionately, “if I am under
obligation to you?”
“Well, what will you do about it?” asked Juan, wonderingly.
“Have you told the sailors yet about the caravels?” demanded Diego.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” was the hesitating answer. “What does it matter?”
“It matters a great deal. My cousin must know about it.”
“I supposed you had told him already. I saw you talking with him.”
“I didn’t tell him. I wish you to tell him.”
“I?” exclaimed Juan. “I won’t do it. Why should I?”
“Because he dislikes you, and it will put you in favor with him if you
do it. If I let you tell him it will make us quits again.”
“Betray my comrades to please you!” said Juan, scornfully. “I won’t.”
“How would it betray them? Don’t you see that if you don’t tell I shall
have to? You don’t want me to have a right to fight you,” said Diego,
bitterly.
“I won’t do it, anyhow,” said Juan.
“He trusted you; he took your word, and I think that puts you under
obligation to tell him instead of telling the sailors, especially as it
won’t do them any good to know. I think you’re afraid to fight, that’s
what I think.”
“No you don’t,” retorted Juan. “Well, I’ll tell Martin Alonzo, though I
don’t want to; and I’ll fight you some day, and I will beat you so that
you will never ask me to fight again.”
“Thank you,” said Diego, joyously, “and I’ll never call you ugly names
again, nor sneer at you.”
So he turned away happy in the thought of some day retrieving his
defeat, and Juan, very much puzzled over it all, watched him walk away
and murmured to himself:
“He hates me now; but maybe he’ll like me after we have had a fair
fight and one of us is whipped.”