MILO SIGHTS A SAIL.
Day broke through a silver haze, and as the blue sea unrolled to view,
far down to the southeast, flashed a pearly sliver of sail lazily
drawing in to the coast. It was the merest streak of white against the
sky, and none but Milo's sharp eyes could have seen it. Even at that
distance, and indistinct though it was in the mist, the giant detected
the three masts crossed with yards that proclaimed the vessel a
full-rigged ship. He gazed long and earnestly, to assure himself of the
ship's progress, then hurried along the mountain toward the village.
He strode with the free stride of a perfect creature, swinging from the
hip and covering the ground at a common man's running pace. His vast
chest heaved and fell easily and rhythmically, the golden-hued skin
rippling and flashing in the rising sunlight; every line of limbs and
torso was the outward and visible sign of abounding health; the straight
black hair falling to his shoulders framed a keen, powerful face of
Semitic mold, in which the high brow and calm, fearless eyes belonged
rather to one of the blood-royal than to a slave. And rightly, too, for
Milo, the giant, was of princely line in his own land, and his present
servitude was an accident that had yet failed to rob him of his
birthright of dignity.
He came abreast of and above the haven where lay the stout sloop and
boats of the community, and the sounds of noisy industry about the craft
brought a frown and a sneer to his face. It reminded him too vividly of
his actual station, and violently dragged him back from the realm of
visions he had allowed himself to indulge in. The pirates were busily
overhauling their gear, filling water casks, calking dried-out seams,
and sluicing opening decks with copious streams of water, just as they
were used to do in the palmy days when Red Jabez kept them gorged with
pillage.
Milo hurried faster, for he feared they too had sighted his ship, and
sprang down to the shore to accost surly Caliban.
"Here, Milo old buck, stick yer beak into this, lad!" screamed Caliban,
thrusting forward a brimming horn of wine. The giant declined
impatiently, waving a hand toward the activity afoot.
"What, won't drink luck, hey?" cried the dwarf, emptying the horn
himself. "Ain't got the news yet, hey?"
"News? What news can such as thee have that I am not told?" demanded
Milo contemptuously. Caliban scowled viciously at his tone, but the
giant's hands were strong, and the little ruffian loved his warped life.
He flung down his horn and retorted: "We're to windward o' ye this time,
Milo me lad. Th' queen bade us be ready for a lamb headed this way, an',
sure enough, there comes a craft now, a'most in sight from here. Small
fish, true, but sweet after so long a spell o' famine."
Milo knew that the ship he had seen could not possibly have been
detected from the village. It must be yet another craft, and, without a
word, he bounded back up the cliff and scanned the waters closer
inshore. There, sure enough, lay a beautiful white schooner, her paint
dazzling to the eye, her decks flashing with metal, her canvas faultless
in fit and set and whiteness. She was still five miles distant and
slowly edging along the coast, as if indifferent to her tardy progress.
The giant noted her exact position, then presented himself to Dolores.
The girl was luxuriously submitting to the skilful attentions of
Pascherette; her wealth of lustrous hair enveloped her like a veil,
rendering almost superfluous the filmy silken robe she had donned. But
at sight of Milo all her feline contentment fled, and she thrust the
maid from her and stood up to receive his report.
"A ship?" she flashed.
"Two, Sultana. The men make ready now."
"The men? Dolt! Did I not tell thee to keep such news for me?"
"They saw the small vessel while I was beyond the Tongue. They have not
seen the ship I saw, nor have I told them. It is a great ship, lady;
theirs is but a small, poor thing."
"I will see it." Dolores suddenly remembered the maid, whose presence
she had ignored. Pascherette stood apart, a small, fairylike French
octoroon, dainty as a golden thistledown; her full red lips were parted
in eager inquisitiveness, and her slim, small body leaned forward, as if
to catch every word; but at sight of her Dolores burst into knowing
merriment, for the girl's eyes told her story. They were fastened in
intense, burning adoration, not on the mistress but on Milo, the giant
slave.
"La-la, chit!" Dolores cried; "keep thy black eyes from my property."
But more weighty matters than a maid's fluttering bosom demanded her
attention, and she commanded sharply: "Milo, summon the men to the
council hall at once. Let none be absent. Go swiftly!" Milo went, and
Dolores flashed around on Pascherette again: "And thou, hussy, take this
clinging frippery from me and give me my tunic. And, mark me, girl, thy
eyes and ears belong to me. Thy tongue, too. Let that tongue utter one
word of what those eyes see, those ears hear, and it shall be plucked
from thy pretty mouth with hot pincers. Remember!"
Dolores put on her tunic and swept out to steal a long look at the white
schooner before entering the hall.
Into the council hall the pirates came trooping, tarry, wet, soiled with
the estuary mud as they were, and stood in a milling mob awaiting speech
from Dolores, who entered from the rear and scanned their faces closely.
Shuffling feet and whistling breath would not be stilled, even in her
presence, for their appetites were already whetted for a victim, and the
fumes of the previous night's debauch lingered. They glared at the girl
and cursed impatiently.
"Hear!" commanded Dolores with an imperious gesture, and every sound was
muffled, not stilled. "Hear, my brave jackals! For long ye have hungered
for employment fit for the royal corsairs ye are. Now the meal is to
hand." The hall reverberated with the clamor that went up. Cutlases
scraped from their scabbards and swished aloft; bold Spotted Dog
snatched out his great horse-pistol and blazed into the floor, filling
the place with acrid smoke and noise. Dolores's eyes flashed angrily;
she governed her fury, and went on when the uproar subsided: "Your boats
are ready?"
"Ready and rotting wi' idleness!" roared Hanglip.
"And ye purpose wasting powder and shot on some paltry craft of the
islands! Wait, my brave lads, I have better game at hand!"
Now the crowd was hushed in earnest, for none of them saw more than a
frolic coming from such a small craft as the schooner. The girl went on
to tell them of the big ship that Milo had seen, and she painted it a
rich West Indiaman, loaded to the hatches with rum and powder, gold and
jewels, delicate meats and--with emphasis which she carefully cloaked
yet made vivid--dainty ladies, no doubt.
"Take ye the sloop, then," she commanded, "and bring me no tale of
failure. Ten miles southwest from the bluff she lies becalmed. Let no
man return without tribute for me. Go now!"
With a whoop the evil ruffians tumbled out, hurling themselves pell-mell
down to the shore, and splashing out to the boats. Their sloop, a long,
beamy Cayman-built craft, of eighty tons and twelve murderous guns that
were cast for a king's ship, could be handled by four men or a hundred.
She carried fifty men now, and she sped out of the estuary before the
faint breeze with a velocity that spelled certain doom for any
square-rigged ship she ever lifted over the horizon.
Dolores watched them go with inscrutable face; then commanded Milo to
attend her in the great chamber. Pascherette, not yet over her fright,
hovered tremblingly near, and her mistress dismissed her with a
pacifying pat on the head, flinging, at the same time, a string of
pearls around her neck that brought mingled gratitude, greed, and
conceit into her sparkling eyes.
"How stands the schooner now?" Dolores asked when the girl had gone.
"She drifts slowly, Sultana. There is little wind. Yet she ever comes
nearer."
"Milo, that is my ship!" breathed Dolores fervidly. "I have jewels and
silken trash, the richest in my store, which my father told me were
taken from such a vessel. A yacht, he called that craft. 'Tis sailed for
pleasure; trade never soils the holds of such craft; men who sail such a
vessel as that which now hovers near us are of the kind from which comes
such as that!" Once more she indicated the "Laughing Cavalier," and now
her form and face were filled with surging ambition strengthened with
ardent hope.
"How goes our sloop?" she asked abruptly.
"Swiftly, but with the dying breath of the wind. By noon she will be
swinging idly, Sultana."
"Who of the boldest rascals remain with us?"
"The noisiest dogs have gone. Sancho remains, for Stumpy cracked his
head last night in a brawl. The others here are but cattle!" The giant
uttered the words with bitter scorn.
"Then, at noon, Milo, we move to secure my ship!" Dolores cried with
gleaming eyes. "Set slaves to move out the false Point and anchor it a
cable-length off the true. I will have a plan then to lure the schooner
on. We must not let her escape, Milo!"
"Pardon, lady, I know a way!"
"And that?"
"I will swim to the schooner and command them to thy presence."
Dolores smiled whimsically, for she was too wise to be ignorant of the
fact that such men as were in that schooner must first be caught before
they might be commanded. Yet the giant's plan suggested another to her.
"Hear my plan," she said. "That chit--Pascherette--she's a dainty minx!
Does she swim?"
"Like a conger, Sultana!" Milo's face lighted warmly, and Dolores
shrewdly guessed then that the petite octoroon's regard for the giant
was not altogether unrequited.
"Then carry her abreast of the vessel, quickly, and bid her swim out to
it. Let her use some of the cunning that is in her pretty little head,
and make them wonder what else our island has to offer in dainties.
Then, ere evening, I shall have work for thee that shall complete what
Pascherette begins. Command the minx to bring forth all her fascinations
and allurements. Nay, friend, have no fear for thy sweetheart. I warrant
thee she can care for herself, if she will. Go! It is my command!"
Milo departed, and Dolores went out to the Grove, climbed nimbly to the
cliff-top, and sat down to watch. She had a clear view of the schooner
now winging lazily along three miles away and a mile off shore; the
shore, from the point where her rascals were even now towing out a great
mass of interlaced trees and foliage planted upon stout logs to form a
false point, right along to abreast of the schooner, lay immediately
beneath her eye; the blue sea glittered and flashed under the hot sun,
unruffled by wind, and only bursting into a long line of creamy foam,
where it licked the golden sands. The tall palms nodded languorously,
their deep green heads faintly chafing like sleeping crickets; the
tinkle of the sands came up to her ears like tiny bells.
Dolores followed with her eyes two swiftly moving figures on the shore
path, hidden from the ocean by a mass of verdure, and she smiled
cryptically. The giant Milo strode on his way like the embodiment of
force; at his side tripped Pascherette, her glossy black crown barely
reaching above his waist, her tiny hand hidden completely in his great
fist. And she kept her bright eyes raised to his great height all the
while, satisfied that her little feet should trip, perhaps, if only her
eyes tripped not from his face.
Presently they stopped, and Dolores stood up alertly. There was but a
moment's delay, while Pascherette bound her hair more securely; then,
with a flirting hand-wave, the little octoroon darted from Milo,
wriggled through the bushes, and ran lightly down to the sea. In another
moment her small, black head was moving rapidly toward the schooner, her
golden skin flashing warmly in the sun as her arms swept over and over
in an adept stroke that carried her forward with the speed of a fish.