The Bridgeport times and evening farmer., 1919-03-18
CHAPTER XI.
The Return of the Boat.

ne heLurn CT the Boat.
 The crew hurried over to the port rail. Beyond doubt most of those aboard realized that this had been an expedition of some importance, the cuI- imitation of their long wait on the coast, part of some scheme of their chief, in the spoils of which they ex- pected to share. Moreover this boat approaching through the darkness was bringing back their leader, and how ever else they might feel toward him, the reckless daring, and audacious re- sourcefulness of Sanchez meant sue cess.
 I was made to comprehend all this by the low, muttered utteranCes of those crowding near me, spoken in nearly every language of the world. Much I could not translate, yet enough reached my ears to convince me of the temper of the crew-their feverish eagerness to be again at sea, under command of captain whom they both hated and feared-a cruel, cold-blood- ed monster. yet a genius in crime, and a natural leader of such men as these. Black Sanchezl I listened to their comments, their expectations, with swiftly beating heart. I alone kneW what that boat was bringing. What would be the result when the dead body of their leader came up over the rail?
 LeVere shouted an order, and a sud den flare was lighted amidships, the circle of flame Illuminating a part of the deck, and spreading out over the wild expanse of water. Scarcely had a minute elapsed before it came sweep ing into the radius Of light-at first dim, spectral shadow, scarcely to be recognized; then, almost as suddenly, revealed iu all it's detaiis-a boat of size, flying toward US under a lug sail, keeling well over, and topping the sea sweIs like a bird on wing. LeVere called for men to stand by, the fellows rushing past me to their stations, but, in the fascination of the moment, I failed to move. I could do nothing but stare out across the intervening wa ter, with eyes fastened on that swiftly approaching boat. 1 must see, l must know the message it brought; what story it held of the tragedy. Manuel held the tiller, with Estada seated be- side him, leaning forward, and ges- ticulating with one hand, as he direct ed the course. l had never seen these two, yet I knew them beyond doubt. Mendez and Anderson Cat least l SUD- posed these to be the two) were poised at the sail halyards, ready to let the straining sheet down at run, while Cochose crouched low In the bow, his black hand uplifted, gripping a coil of rope. Their faces were all turned for ward, lighted by the flare from our deck, and felt a shudder of fear run over memo expression on any coun- tenance spoke of defeat; even the ugly features of the negro beamed with de- light.
 But was that alI2 Was that all7 Surely not. Forward of the single mast was slowed the chest, while in the open space between the helmsman and the two sailors were stretched two motionless bodies. LeYere, gripping a stay-roce, and leaning well out hailed in Spanish.
 "Ahoy, the boat | You can make it?7
 "Ayi" came back Estnda's voice. "Stand by to feud us off. Call all hands. and break anchor as soon as we are aboard"
 "very well, sir. Where is Captain sanchez?"
 Estada pointed downward in swift, expressive gesture.
 Here at my feet-bad1y hurt, but will recover. Send two men down to help when we make fast. Now, Co., chose-let go of your rope; watch out above !"
 I stood, gripping hard at the rail, and staring down at the scene below, as the men in the boat made fast. felt paralyzed, and helpless, unable to move. I had no business to remain there: every prospect of security de- pended on my joining the crew. Yet only one thought gripped me-Sanchez was not dead! And that other Dody2 That of Dorothy Fairfax, without doubt, yet certainly not lifeless. If their prisoner was the girI-and who else could it be?-she remained alive, help1essly bound to prevent either struggle, or outcry, and destined to a fate far worse than death.
 My own life hung in the balance nay, rather, my doom was already sealed. There seemingly was but one chance for escape left-that was to drop silently overheard. God, no that would be the craven act of coward Better far to stay, and kill, or even bs killed. than to be forever cursed by my own conscience.
 The fellows sent down from the main chains to the boat brought the injured captain up first. This required the services of three men, his body hAnging limp between them, his up turned face showing ghastly in the flaming of the torch thrust out ovel .4he rail. To every appearance 1t was