job to get my heroes to butt in. That fellow Gomez is a brick. He orated like a politician, and finally they got a move on. From what I have seen since I came aboard, I guess you were hustling about that time?” “Yes,” said Courtenay, filling a glass with wine as he heard Boyle’s step without. He handed the glass to the chief when he entered. “How many?” he asked. “Huh! We’ve slung fifty-three Indians an’ six of the crew overboard. There’s fourteen wounded natives an’ five of our men in the doctor’s hands. Two Alaculofs died of funk when they set eyes on the nigger who turned up in the life-boat. They thought—well, here’s chin chin to everybody. I’m thirsty.” CHAPTER XVI. CHRISTOBAL’S TEMPTATION “By the way, what of Monsieur de Poincilit?” said Courtenay. “I saw him come aboard with Malcolm, but he dived into the saloon, and has not reappeared. Is he ill?” Gray’s mouth set like a steel trap; his eyes had a glint in them. He seemed to be unwilling to speak; when words came, they were cold and measured. “I haven’t any use for that fellow,” he said. “I suppose the unpleasant story must be told sooner or later, so here goes. In the first place, Poincilit forgot that I understood Spanish, and I heard him yelping to the Chileans in the jolly-boat that if we took any more people on board we should be swamped. It was he who put the notion in their heads to cast off while you were lowering Miss Baring’s maid into my arms. I tried to forget that, as he was blue-white with fear, and some fellows are not responsible for their actions when their liver melts. But I can never forget his action on the island. Yesterday morning I was just in time to stop him and four others from sneaking off in the life-boat with all our provisions.” Courtenay’s face hardened too. “Necessity may have no laws,” said he; “but I fancy I should have found a code to meet his case.” “I have organized a Vigilance Committee in my time, and its articles kind of fitted in,” was the American’s quiet reply. “That is why I have a few recent knife-cuts distributed about my skin; I began to shoot and we were two short on the muster roll next day. De Poincilit ran, and fell on his knees. So did a skunk of an Italian, and I did not want to waste cartridges. They were tied back to back until we sailed to-day.” “And the fifth?” “The fifth was a woman.” “Huh!” Boyle reached out for a bottle of wine and refilled his glass. For a little while there was silence. Then Courtenay muttered: “Poor devil of a Count! ‘She gave me of the tree and I did eat.’ Did he blame the woman?” “Well, yes. But it was a mean business, any how.” “Better sponge it off the slate, eh?” “I agree heartily. Drink up, Boyle, and pass the buck. I have a five years’ thirst.”