The pirates having definitively settled the mode of making their inland
journey, there is a short interregnum; during which most of those ready
for the road stand idling, one or two still occupied in equipping
themselves.
La Crosse has been sent up the ravine, to report how things look
landward.
The four Spaniards have signified their intention to remain a little
longer on the ground; while the three Englishmen have not said when they
will leave. These are together conferring in low voice; but with an
earnestness in their eyes--especially Blew's--which makes it easy to
guess the subject. Only thoughts of woman could kindle these fiery
glances.
Soon all appear ready to depart. Still no one stirs from the spot. For
there is something yet: still another question to be determined; to most
of them a matter of little, though to some of all consequence.
In the latter light, two at least regard it; since with them it has been
the source, the primary motive, the real spur to all their iniquitous
action. In a word, it is the women.
The captives: how are they to be disposed of?
They are still within the grotto, unseen, as the sailcloth curtains it.
Breakfast has been taken to them, which they have scarce touched.
And, now, the time has come for deciding what has to be done with them;
no one openly asks, or says word upon the subject; though it is
uppermost in the thoughts of all. It is a delicate question, and they
are shy of broaching it. For there is a sort of tacit impression there
will be difficulty about the appropriation of this portion of the
spoils--an electricity in the air, that foretells dispute and danger.
All along it had been understood that two men laid claim to them; their
claim, whether just or not, hitherto unquestioned, or, at all events,
uncontested. These, Gomez and Hernandez. As they had been the original
designers of the supposed deed, now done, their confederates, men little
given to love-making, had either not thought about the women, or deemed
their possession of secondary importance. But now, at the eleventh
hour, it has become known that two others intend asserting a claim to
them--one being Blew, the other Davis.
And these two certainly seem so determined, their eyes constantly
turning towards the grotto where the girls are, unconscious of the
interest they are exciting.
At length the dreaded interrogatory is put--and point blank. For it is
Jack Striker who puts it. The "Sydney Duck" is not given to sentiment
or circumlocution.
Speaking that all may hear him, he blurts out:
"Well, chums? what are we to do wi' the weemen?"
"Oh! they?" answers Gomez in a drawling tone, and with an affectation of
indifference. "_You've_ nothing to do with them, and needn't take any
trouble. They'll go with us--with Senor Hernandez and myself."
"Will they, indeed?" sharply questions the chief officer.
"Of course," answers Gomez.
"I don't see any of course about it," rejoins Blew. "And more'n that, I
tell ye they don't go with ye--leastwise, not so cheap as you think
for."
"What do you mean, Mr Blew?" demands the Spaniard, his eyes betraying
anger, with some uneasiness.
"No use your losin' temper, Gil Gomez. You ain't goin' to scare me. So
you may as well keep cool. By doin' that, and listenin', you'll larn
what I mean. The which is, that you and Hernandez have no more right to
them creeturs in the cave than any o' the rest of us. Just as the gold,
so ought it to be wi' the girls. In coorse, we can't divide them all
round; but that's no reason why any two should take 'em, so long's any
other two wants 'em as well. Now, _I_ wants one o' them."
"And I another!" puts in Davis.
"Yes," continues Blew; "and though I be a bit older than you, Mr Gomez,
and not quite so pretentious a gentleman, I can like a pretty wench as
well's yerself. I've took a fancy to the one wi' the tortoise-shell
hair, an' an't goin' to gi'e her up in the slack way you seem to be
wishin'."
"Glad to hear it's the red one, Blew," says Davis. "As I'm for the
black one, there'll be no rivalry between us. Her I mean to have--
unless some better man hinders me."
"Well," interpolates Striker, "as 'twas me first put the questyun, I
'spose I'll be allowed to gi'e an opeenyun?"
No one saying nay, the ex-convict proceeds:
"As to any one hevin' a speecial claim to them weemen, nobody has, an'
nobody shed have. 'Bout that, Blew's right, an' so's Bill. An' since
the thing's disputed, it oughter be settled in a fair an' square--"
"You needn't waste your breath," interrupts Gomez, in a tone of
determination. "I admit no dispute in the matter. If these gentlemen
insist, there's but one way of settling. First, however, I'll say a
word to explain. One of these ladies is my sweetheart--was, before I
ever saw any of you. Senor Hernandez here can say the same of the
other. Nay, I may tell you more; they are pledged to us."
"It's a lie!" cries Blew, confronting the slanderer, and looking him
straight in the face. "A lie, Gil Gomez, from the bottom o' your black
heart!"
"Enough!" exclaims Gomez, now purple with rage. "No man can give Frank
Lara the lie, and live after."
"Frank Lara; or whatever you may call yerself, I'll live long enough to
see you under ground--or what's more like, hangin' high above it wi'
your throat in a halter. Don't make any mistake about me. I can shoot
straight as you."
"Avast theer!" shouts Striker to Gomez, now calling himself De Lara,
seeing him about to draw a pistol. "Keep yer hand off that wepun! If
theer must be a fight, let it be a fair one. But, before it begin, Jack
Striker has a word to say."
While speaking, he has stepped between the two men, staying their
encounter.
"Yes; let the fight be a fair one!" demand several voices, as the
pirates come clustering around.
"Look here, shipmates!" continues Striker, still standing between the
two angry men, and alternately eyeing them. "What's the use o' spillin'
blood about it--maybe killin' one the other? All for the sake o' a pair
o' petticoats, or a couple o' pairs, as it be. Take my advice, an'
settle the thing in a pacifical way. Maybe ye will, after ye've heerd
what I intend proposin'; which I daresay 'll be satisfactory to all."
"What is it, Jack?" asks one of the outsiders.
"First, then, I'm goin' to make the observashun, that fightin' an't the
way to get them weemen, whoever's fools enough to fight for 'em.
Theer's somethin' to be done besides."
"Explain yourself, old Sydney! What's to be done besides?"
"If the gals are goin' to be fought for, they've first got to be _paid_
for."
"How that?"
"How? What humbuggin' stuff askin' such a questyin! Han't we all equil
shares in 'em? Coorse we hev. Tharfore, them as wants 'em, must pay
for 'em. An' they as wants 'em so bad as to do shootin' for 'em, surely
won't objek to that. Theer appear to be four candydates in the field,
an', kewrous enuf, they're set in pairs, two for each one o' the gals.
Now, 'ithout refarin' to any fightin' that's to be done--an', if they're
fools enuf to fight, let 'em--I say that eyther who eventyally gets a
gal, shed pay a considerashin o' gold-dust all roun' to the rest o' us--
at least a pannikin apiece. That's what Jack Striker proposes first."
"It's fair," says Slush.
"Nothing more than our rights," observes Tarry; the Dane and the
Dutchman also endorsing the proposal.
"I agree to it," says Harry Blew.
"I also," adds Davis.
De Lara--late Gomez--signifies his assent by a disdainful nod, but
without saying a word; Hernandez imitating the action. In fear of
losing adherents, neither dares disapprove of it.
"What more have you to say, Jack?" asks Slush, recalling Striker's last
words, which seemed to promise something else.
"Not much. Only thet I think it a pity, after our livin' so long in
harmony thegither, we can't part same way. Weemen's allers been a
bother ever since I've know'd 'em. An', I 'spose, it'll continue so to
the eend o' the chapter, an' the eend o' some lives heer. I repeet,
thet it be a pity we shed hev to wind up wi' a quarrel wheer blood's
bound to be spilt. Now, why, can't it be settled 'ithout thet? I think
I know o' a way."
"What way?"
"Leave it to the ladies theirselves. Gi'e them the chance o' who they'd
like for theer purtectors; same time lettin' 'em know they've got to
choose 'tween one or t'other. Let 'em take theer pick, everybody
unnerstanin' afterwards theer's to be no quarrellin', or fightin'.
That's our law in the Australyin bush, when we've cases o' the kind; an'
every bushranger hez to 'bide by it. Why shedn't it be the same heer?"
"Why shouldn't it?" asks Slush. "It's a good law--just and fair for
all."
"I consent to it," says Blew, with apparent reluctance, as if doubtful
of the result, yet satisfied to submit to the will of the majority. "I
mayn't be neyther so young nor so good-lookin' as Mr Gomez," he adds;
"I know I an't eyther. Still I'll take my chance. If she I lay claim
to pronounces against me, I promise to stand aside, and say ne'er
another word--much less think o' fightin' for her. She can go 'long wi'
him, an' my blessin' wi' both."
"Bravo, Blew! You talk like a good 'un. Don't be afraid; we'll stand
by you!"
This, from several of the outsiders.
"Comrades!" says Davis, "I place myself in your hands. If my girl's
against me, I'm willin' to give her up, same as Blew."
What about the other two? What answer will they make to the proposed
peaceful compromise? All eyes are turned on them, awaiting it.
De Lara speaks first, his eyes flashing fire. Hitherto he has been
holding his anger in check, but now it breaks out, poured forth like
lava from a burning mountain.
"_Carajo_!" he cries. "I've been listening a long time to talk--taking
it too coolly. Idle talk, all of it; yours, Mr Striker, especially.
What care we about your ways in the Australian bush. They won't hold
good here, or with me. My style of settling disputes is this, or this."
He touches his pistol-butt, and then the hilt of _machete_, hanging by
his side, adding, "Mr Blew can have his choice."
"All right!" retorts the ex-man-o'-war's man. "I'm good for a bout with
eyther, and don't care a toss which. Pistols at six paces, or my
cutlass against that straight blade o' yours. Both if you like."
"Both be it. That's best, and will make the end sure. Get ready, and
quick. For, sure as I stand here, I intend killing you!"
"Say, you intend tryin'. I'm ready to give you the chance. You can
begin, soon's you feel disposed."
"And I'm ready for _you_, sir," says Davis, confronting Hernandez.
"Knives, pistols, tomahawks--anything you like."
Hernandez hangs back, as though he would rather decline this combat _a
outrance_.
"No, Bill!" interposes Striker; "one fight at a time. When Blew an'
Gomez hev got through wi' theirs, then you can gi'e t'other his change--
if so be he care to hev it."
"T'other" appears gratified with Striker's speech, disregarding the
innuendo. He had no thought it would come to this, and now looks as if
he would surrender up his sweetheart without striking a blow. He makes
no rejoinder; but shrinks back, cowed-like and craven.
"Yes; one fight at a time!" cry others, endorsing the dictum of Striker.
It is the demand of the majority, and the minority concedes it. All
know it is to be a duel to the death. A glance at the antagonists--at
their angry eyes and determined attitudes--makes this sure. On that
lonely shore one of the two, if not both, will sleep his last sleep!