The fight raged back and forth around the powder store; once a sudden onslaught by Pearse forced Venner back to the great chair; Tomlin’s swift rush to keep close brought all three into a tumbled crash at the dais, and the chair was overturned in a heap of flying draperies that entangled their feet. And while Pearse and Venner struggled vainly to maintain their footing, Tomlin began to accomplish his own dire ends. Crouching, with his dark face full of evil passions, he drove his point first at one, then at the other, stabbing through the involved silk and skins.
In his furious haste to complete his murderous work, he sprang forward carelessly, his foot became entangled, and he pitched face downward upon his victims. Now Pearse seized the opening; but when he arose, stumblingly, there was a different expression on his face, a horror-stricken realization of Tomlin’s treachery. Venner lay, still unable to disentangle himself, but slightly hurt, and he, too, regarded Tomlin with a look of sorrow and reawakening sanity.
“Up, murderer, and fight!” rasped Pearse, stepping astride Venner and glaring down at Tomlin. “Venner, draw aside. Let me punish this scoundrel we have called friend; then meet me if you wish.”
Tomlin looked up with a snarl of baffled rage, expecting swift reprisal for his treacherous attempt. Gone was the last vestige of civilization from his face; greed of gold, jewel-hunger, blood-lust, all played about his reddened eyes and cruel, down-drawn mouth. The primitive came through the veneer of culture and showed him the man he really was. And evil though his spirit had proved, in this final test his courage showed up like that of the tiger. He leaned on one elbow, watching Pearse like a cat, then slowly knelt and stood, keeping his point down. With the bestial cunning that had overwhelmed him, he circled away from the trappings and draperies of the chair that had brought him down, and responded to Pearse’s chivalrous waiting with a sneer.
“You had better have made sure while you had the chance, Pearse,” he grinned, showing his teeth wolfishly. “Venner can wait. There is no treasure for three; Dolores is mine! Guard!”
With the word Tomlin made a savage attack without waiting for Pearse to fall into guard. And Dolores came from her concealment, advanced half-way down the chamber, and watched with a new intensity that was not apparent while Venner was in the fight.
Pearse avoided his opponent’s thrust at the expense of a pierced left hand, which caught the other’s point a hand-breadth from his breast. Then the duel dropped to equality. Swift and silent they fought, silent save for the rasp and screech of steel on steel, their feet padding noiselessly on the deep-piled carpet. Venner drew aside and watched, his eyes losing their hard glare, and some of his old expression returned to his face. It was as if his resurging emotions were bringing back to him the shame and remorse of a gentleman inveigled into performing a despicable action. He, too, saw Dolores approaching; saw the tensity of her expression; sensed some of the tremendous hopes that actuated her, now that she saw the rapid culmination of all her plots and seductions.
She stood quite near to him now, leaning forward in an attitude of utter anxiety. She saw nothing of Venner; her great, violet eyes were dusky and full of yearning, her hands clutched at her breast. And all the intensity of her gaze was fixed upon Tomlin. She responded to his momentary success when he drove Pearse back with a savage assault, with a panting little cry of joy; she fell back with widened eyes when a counter-attack forced Tomlin almost upon her. And her lips opened in a gasp when a vicious clash of steel told of a pressed onslaught, and Pearse lunged heavily forward.
In the instant when Pearse followed his first plunge, Dolores stood in uncertainty through which dawned jubilation. Then her face went white, she seemed to lose all her splendid vitality; for her astounded eyes fastened upon Pearse’s rapier-point, protruding a foot from Tomlin’s back, and slowly the stricken man sagged away and fell at her feet, clutching at the steel at his breast and snarling like a beast.
A hush fell over the great chamber. Then from a distance came the sound of voices, voices of men down at the shore, ringing clear and sharp on the still air, accentuating the deathly hush that clung around the actors in the scene like a heavy mantle. It startled Dolores into renewed life. She ran with feverish eagerness toward Tomlin, hurling aside the others, and crouching upon the body in dry-eyed rage.
Venner sought to catch the eye of the victor, and saw in Pearse a reflection of the feelings that had possessed himself. John Pearse showed every sign of horror and awakened sanity that had marked his own expression before the fatal fight had started. Their eyes met, and there was no challenge in them. Both dropped their gaze involuntarily upon the huddled figures at their feet; and it was Pearse, the man who had precipitated the conflict at first, who nodded with his head a silent invitation to withdraw. Venner stepped after him, softly and with bowed shoulders, shuddering violently as he passed the expiring Tomlin.
They reached the door together, and with the rocky tunnel open before them, once more holding up to their eyes the picture of absolute beauty of sea and sky and shore, they filled their lungs with fresh, wholesome air, and shook off the last of the evil spell that had held them.
“In God’s name, Pearse, let us fly from this hellish place!” whispered Venner, dropping his rapier to the rocky floor with a clatter, and thrusting his hand out in reconciliation.
“Yes, Venner, and pray Heaven we may forget!” replied Pearse fervently. “But how shall we get away? The giant and his crew are yet at the schooner.”
“We must wait. They will return soon for more booty. Then we must seize the chance. Is that somebody coming now?”
Milo’s great shoulders reared above the cliff, and behind him came the slaves. They came directly toward the great rock, and Pearse flattened himself against the wall in the shadow of the portals, pressing Venner back also with a hand across his chest.
“Hush! Hide here. Let them enter, and we’ll make one leap for the shore.”
The giant swung into the passage, his black eyes blazing with some emotion that the hidden pair could not fathom. It was something on the border of fear, but of what? Fear and Milo was a combination hard of reconciliation. The slaves at his heels followed dumbly, slaves in thought and action; if their dulled brains ever awoke, it was but to the call of animal appetites; they were incapable of devotion such as Milo’s, and as incapable of shock should their obedience fail reward. They passed into the great chamber, and a throaty cry of alarm burst from the giant at the sight of his Sultana prone on the floor.
“Now!” whispered Pearse, taking the lead. “Swift and silent!”
Like ghosts they ran from the tunnel, glanced around once as they reached the cliff path, then leaped down the declivity. That swift glance showed them the camp deserted except for the wondering women, who wandered idly among the empty huts, ever looking toward the forest wherein had vanished all their men, waiting with bovine patience for any one to settle their uncertainty for them.
And the forest was yet very still. The Feu Follette lay at a single anchor, heading in the light breeze fair to seaward; a few heads showed above her rail, and the stops had been cast off from her snowy sails. At her gangway a single boat lay, the painter made fast on deck; on the foreshore the other two long-boats were drawn up on the sand, planks running up to their sides in readiness for the embarkation of yet more treasure.
Venner and Pearse raced down the steep path, using little precaution, sending showers of stones and clods flying before them. And Peters, the schooner’s sailing-master, saw them coming, and his voice rang out calling for hands to man the boat. Two men answered and entered the boat as the two fugitives reached the shore and ran along the Point. Pearse counted the minutes at their disposal, and saw the futility of waiting for that boat. He clutched eagerly at Venner’s arm, and panted in his ear:
“Tell them to hold on! Let them get the schooner ready for swift departure. Come, we must swim for it.”
Venner hesitated but a second. Then his hail went hurtling over the still haven, and the two
seamen scrambled out of the boat again.
“Swim it is, Pearse,” he said, leading the way down to deep water. “Swim it is, and may the ever-cleansing sea wash out of us the last traces of insanity.”
Together they plunged into the blue sea and swam swiftly out to the schooner.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE FLIGHT OF THE FEU FOLLETTE.
Dolores, flinging herself down upon Craik Tomlin, seized his face between her hands and raised his head, placing her knee beneath it. She panted like an exhausted doe, yet the fire that leaped from her eyes gave the lie to her attitude of sorrowing humility. Her lips moved feverishly, but she could not or would not speak aloud. Tomlin’s eyes were closed in agony, his teeth were clenched tightly upon his under lip; he gave no sign that he knew of her presence. And a sudden fury seized her at his irresponsiveness. She shook his head between her hands savagely.
“Wake! Speak!” she cried hoarsely. “Art indeed dead, at the moment of my triumph?”
Tomlin’s eyelids flickered, and his lips strove to speak. One hand went weakly to his face, to grasp her fingers. And into her anxious ear he managed to whisper:
“Evil luck fought with me, Dolores. Yet I die content if you care.”
“Care!” she echoed, shaking his fingers loose impatiently. “Care? Yes, this I care, bungler: I care because of all three of thee, thou alone wert covetous enough to obey my conditions. With thee alive, there was hope of thy friends’ speedy death. With thee dead, which of the others will wipe his fellow from his path for me? Why, think ye, did I fawn on John Pearse? But to arouse in thee the demon of jealousy; why did I smile on Venner, and call him my Rupert? To steel thy arm against him. And for what?”
She suddenly laid his head down on the floor, leaned over him with her lips almost brushing his cheek, and whispered fiercely: “Speak! Canst live?”
Tomlin’s face lost some of its pain. The thin lips straightened into the semblance of a faint smile. His glazing eyes opened slightly.
“I am done for,” he whispered. “Dolores, kiss me again. I die for you.”
The beautiful fury sprang to her feet, spurning him. She glared down at his chalky face in utter scorn.
“Kiss thee? Thou die for me? Pah! I kiss no carrion. A half-hundred men have died for me this day, I hope. I kiss him who lives for me and conquers, not the weakling who dies!”
Without deigning another glance at her victim, she turned away and went to meet Milo. He now entered with his slaves.
“Where are the two strangers?” she demanded harshly.
Milo returned her stare with a look of simple surprise. He had seen nothing of them, and had thought of them being yet with his mistress.
“I saw them not, Sultana,” he replied.
“Saw them not, great clod!” she blazed at him, clenching her hands in rage. “Are they here, then?”
Milo looked around in bewilderment. In all her life Dolores had been his especial care; in her many moments of temper she had perhaps pained his devoted heart, but never had she used to him the tone she now used. It seemed to his simple soul that the foundations of his faith were being wrenched loose.
“I will find them, Sultana,” he said quietly, and turned to leave by the tunnel.
“Stay here, thou blind fool!” she commanded him. “I will find them myself. Here is work more fitting for a slave. How many chests are going to the ship?”
“Three.”
“And how many have ye yet empty here?”
“Three, lady.”
“Then get them quickly. Until I return, bid thy fellows replace the treasure that is still in the powder store. And haste, for I will leave this place this day, though all the fiends say no.”
She ran along the tunnel, and Milo set his men to their task. As he passed along to the powder chamber, a low moan arrested him, and he halted in sudden remorse for Pascherette, whom he now felt he had judged harshly. He left his fellows and went to the tiny alcove where the little octoroon lay, and his great heart leaped in response to the worship that shone in her dark eyes. He saw the dry and cracked lips, the flushed face, and fetched water and wine before he would speak to her. Then, with her small head and slender shoulders against his immense chest, he gave her drink, soothing her pain with soft speech and caressing hand.
Pascherette’s wound was deep, and bleeding internally; a fever already burned in the tiny maid’s veins. She peered up at him wistfully, all of her mischief, all her piquancy gone and replaced by a softened, humbled expression that wrung Milo’s heart-strings.
“Will ye not kiss me now, Milo?” she whispered, with a pearly drop brimming from each eye, where laughter had so lately dwelt.
“Pascherette, thy fault was great,” he answered, yet in his face was a look so forgiving, so excusing, that the girl shivered expectantly and closed her eyes with a happy sigh.
Yet the kiss was not given. From the great chamber the angry voice of Dolores rang out.
“Milo! Where art thou, slave!”
And the giant tenderly laid Pascherette down again, and ran in answer.
“Sultana?”
“Blind, idle dolt! While thou art fondling that serpent of thine, thy mistress’s affairs may go hang! Haste with the treasure, or feel my anger. While thy useless eyes were mooning on nothing, the strangers have escaped. They are even now getting sail on the white vessel. Carry the chests down to the Point as soon as ye may. I will stay them yet, and they shall learn the cost of flouting Dolores! Hasten, I tell ye!”
Milo winced at her address; his black eyes, usually holding the utter devotion of a noble dog, glittered with tiny sparks of resentment; yet the habit of years could not be lightly cast off, and he bowed low, even while Dolores had turned her back on him, and picked up a great empty chest to carry it to the powder store. Here in the flickering light of a pine splinter the slaves worked feverishly, their abject eyes sparkling with borrowed radiance from the riches they handled.
And while they worked, Dolores emerged from the tunnel, flashed one long glance of derision at the moving schooner, and sped down the cliff to stop her flight.
The Feu Follette was poorly enough manned with Peters and his four men. With the ready help of Venner and Pearse the getting of the anchor and the hoisting of the heavy fore and main sails was an arduous job, but it was accomplished under the tremendous urge of remembrance. None wished to have the experiences of the past days repeated; Peters was anxious to get his beautiful vessel into safer waters; the Feu Follette’s owner and his guest were doubly anxious to drop those blue hills of ominous memory below the horizon forever. They gave scant attention to the three great iron-bound chests that stood between the guns along the waist; getting clear occupied every faculty.
The tide setting directly on the Point, with a breeze dead in from seaward, forced the schooner perilously close to the bar that had been her undoing before; but, with the lead going, Peters speedily found that his previous mishap must undoubtedly have been due to clever misleading. After touching lightly once, and getting deeper water at the next cast over the lee side, he understood the trick of the extended false Point and stood boldly along shore.
And as the schooner gathered steerage-way, hugging the Point closely, Dolores ran out along the sandy beach and plunged into the sea abreast the moving vessel.
“Here’s that vixen woman, sir!” cried Peters angrily, looking toward Venner for instructions. Peters had the helm, and owner and guest stood against the companion, ready to lend a hand at the sheets, forward or aft.
Venner and Pearse stared at the swimmer, then turned and gazed searchingly at each other. In the face of each lingered a trace of the subjection they had fallen under; neither could quite so quickly forget the allurements of this woman. Her kisses had been as sweet as her fury had been terrible; and the absence of Craik Tomlin was an additional incentive to memory.
“Shall we take her away?” asked Venner, avoiding Pearse’s eye as he put the question.
“Can’t you
make more sail, Peters?” was Pearse’s reply.
Venner laughed softly, agreeably; and the next moment Dolores hailed them. She swam swiftly, with effortless ease, slipping through the sea like a sparkling nymph in her native element. But the schooner traveled fast, and, though she lost no ground, she gained but slowly. She hailed again.
“Rupert, my Rupert!” and finished the cry with a rippling laugh. “Art stealing my treasure and leaving me?”
“By Heavens, Pearse, I had forgotten these chests,” said Venner uneasily. Pearse regarded him closely, fearing that Dolores’s spell was yet powerful. He gripped Venner tightly by the arm, leaned nearer, and said:
“Venner, so long as that blood-polluted treasure is on your deck, so long will you be unable to settle your mind. Bid the hands pitch it into the sea, for God’s sake!”
A lull in the wind slowed the schooner down, and Dolores gained a fathom. Her fair face was set toward them in a bewitching smile, and she waved a gleaming arm at them. Venner fought with himself in silence for a brief while, then with a shudder stepped to the wheel.
“Get the hands, Peters,” he told the sailing-master, “and heave those chests overboard. Quickly! You shall lose nothing by this, but don’t delay a moment!”
CHAPTER XXIII.
STUMPY FIRES THE MAGAZINE.
Milo and his slaves worked frenziedly at their task, his suddenly bitter spirit flogging them to unremitting haste. In the giant’s troubled face the smoldering spark of resentment had grown to an incipient blaze that required but a breath to burst into angry flame.
One great chest was filled with the choicest of the gems in the powder store; it was set aside in the entrance beside the tapestry, and another box was opened before the powder-kegs. Little Pascherette had ceased moaning, but from time to time a choking sob sounded from her alcove that increased the hard brilliancy of the light in Milo’s eyes. The great chamber was silent as a mausoleum in the intervals between the clashing and tinkling of gold and stones in the chest; from the outside, by way of the rock tunnel, came only the sigh and murmur of the crooning breeze, the softened plash of the tide on the shore, the scream of wheeling seabirds. All sound of the schooner had departed; there was no human note in the whole region.
The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales Page 92