Their evil passions were all awake, and the plan, so long indefinite, developed like a photographer’s plate.

“That’s one,” said Thrackles.  “One gone to hell.”

“And now the diamonds,” muttered Pulz.

  “There’s a ship upon the windward, a wreck upon the lee,
      Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e,”

roared Handy Solomon.  “Damn it all, boys, it’s the best night’s work we ever did.  The stuff’s ours.  Then it’s me for a big stone house in Frisco O!”

“Frisco, hell,” sneered Pulz, “that’s all you know.  You ought to travel.  Paris for me and a little gal to learn the language from.”

“I get heem a fine caballo, an’ fine saddle, an’ fine clo’s,” breathed Perdosa sentimentally.  “I ride, and the silver jingle, and the senorita look——­”

Thrackles was for a ship and the China trade.

“What you want, Doctor?” they demanded of the silent Nigger.

But the Nigger only rolled his eyes and shook his head.  By and by he arose and disappeared in the dusk and was no more seen.

“Dam’ fool,” muttered Handy Solomon.  “Well, here’s to crime!”

He drank a deep cup of the raw rum, and staggered back to his seat on the sands.

  “‘I am not a man-o’-war, nor a privateer,’ said he.
      Blow high, blow low!  What care we! 
  ‘But I am a jolly pirate and I’m sailing for my fee,’
      Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e.”

he sang.  “We’ll land in Valparaiso and we’ll go every man his way; and we’ll sink the old Laughing Lass so deep the mermaids can’t find her.”

Thrackles piled on more wood and the fire leaped high.

“Let’s get after ’em,’ said he.

“To-morrow’s jes’ ‘s good,” muttered Pulz.  “Les’ hav’ ’nother drink.”

“We’ll stay here ‘n see if our ol’ frien’ Percy don’ show up,” said Handy Solomon.  He threw back his head and roared forth a volume of sound toward the dim stars.

  “Broadside to broadside the gallant ships did lay,
      Blow high, blow low!  What care we? 
  ’Til the jolly man-o’-war shot the pirate’s mast away,
      Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e.”

I saw near me a live coal dislodged from the fire when Thrackles had thrown on the armful of wood.  An idea came to me.  I hitched myself to the spark, and laid across it the rope with which my wrists were tied.  This, behind my back, was not easy to accomplish, and twice I burned my wrists before I succeeded.

Fortunately I was at the edge of illumination, and behind the group.  I turned over on my side so that my back was toward the fire.  Then rapidly I cast loose my ankle lashings.  Thus I was free, and selecting a moment when universal attention was turned toward the rum barrel, I rolled over a sand dune, got to my hands and knees, and crept away.