“My plan,” the captain continued, “is to search along the western coast, and wherever we find a boat put off in it for St. George. One of the Portuguese told me the place wasn’t more than half a dozen leagues off at most.” “And what would you do there, brave captain?” the Spaniard asked with a sneer. “Don’t comfort yourself that the marquis would let your bull’s-neck out of his noose, because you merely deserted the commandant and benefited himself in nothing. But your friendship for me mustn’t keep you in Tercera. Perhaps the best thing after all you can do, would be to go and be hanged; it will come about one of these days.” “Not before I throttle you,” the ex-serjeant muttered, with a scowl at the back of his careless comrade’s head. “Joke away,” he added sulkily, aloud. “You’ve a great chance of catching the count up here, while there’s a boat to be got, haven’t you.” “Look you, captain,” Hilo said, raising himself on his elbow. “There isn’t a boat on this coast, nor has there been for these three weeks. These rascally Portuguese have been carrying away their families and goods in every thing that could float, to be out of harm’s way until the fighting is fairly over. I know it is so, for I overheard one of them tell the count night before last; he had been along shore to find out. So the viceroy is still in trap, and if you’ve a mind, you may come along and find where he’s hidden; or if you like it better, swim over the strait, or walk down to the marquis’ quarters: you’ve several acquaintances made in Madrid, you know, who will be pleased to meet you, captain.” At this reference Wolfang regained enough of his good humor to show his tusks in a grin. “Your friends ain’t too many down there, either,” he rejoined. “If I’m to go with you, let’s hear how the count is to be caught.” “Why, my bold captain, we wont catch him at present, it might be inconvenient for you and I alone to fight a regiment of even Portuguese. But we will find out his hiding-place, and with the information buy our heads from Santa Cruz. Or, who knows, we may set a snare for him and take him off his guard; there may be some reward offered for him, too. What do you say, will you share the doubloons, or swim over to St. George’s?” “I’ll follow,” Carlo cried, rising and tightening his belt: the mention of doubloons sounding in his ears with the proverbial music of the trumpet to a war-horse. He pulled his grizzly moustache and loosened his hanger. Hilo laughed. “Come along,” he said. “You’re the sweetest-tempered gentleman of my acquaintance when gold is to be got by it.”