His somber eyes lighted up, startled by this new idea, and he sprang to his feet, swaying before me to the pitch of the deck.

“You mean that, Senor!  We divide what is below, and sail for Porto Grande?  I hear you right?  You not mean surrender?  You stay pirate?”

I laughed, my nerves tingling to the success of my ruse—­he had taken the tempting bait like a hungry fish.

“Why of course; so that was the trouble.  Hell! man, I am not such a fool as to throw away this chance.  I came aboard here without a dollar, drunk, a sailor before the mast.  Look at me now—–­shoved into a job as first officer, with my full share of all we can lay hands on.  Do you suppose I’m going back to the forecastle, and a bit of silver?  Not me!  I’m for all I can get, and with no care how I get it.  This is our chance, LeVere.  If we put the Namur into Porto Grande, with Sanchez on board and alive, and those hell-hounds locked below, we’ll get anything we ask for.  We’ll be the cocks of the walk.  If he shouldn’t live through, why then we’ll have a ship, and can run the game alone.  Either way, if we win, the prize is ours—­and, by God! if we stick together we win.”

My apparent enthusiasm caught the fellow.  I could read the working of his mind in his face.  This was a new view of the situation, a new vision.  It appealed to him from every standpoint—­it promised wealth, power, the total defeat of Estevan; everything he most desired.  And as I pictured it, the result seemed easy of attainment.  His eyes gleamed lightning.

“You think Senor Sanchez live?”

“What difference?  If he lives he owes his life to us.  If he dies the bark is in our hands, and the treasure.  The thing to consider now is how to get control.  Once we have won, we care nothing if he live or die.  Come, we have wasted time enough in talk; it is action that counts—­what say you?  Are we together in this?”

He thrust out a lean, yellow hand, and I gripped it firmly.

“Si, Senor; you speak right.  To do this we must act.  I am with you.”

“You pledge your word, Francois?”

“I pledge it, Senor.”

“Good! and you have mine.  Now to the work—­first Manuel Estevan, and then the men on deck.  ’Tis his stateroom yonder.”

CHAPTER XIX

LAYING THE TRAP

Our first job was executed much more easily than I had anticipated.  We caught Manuel sound asleep, and LeVere had sinewy hands at his throat before the fellow could grasp a weapon, or even clearly comprehend the nature of the attack.  The narrowness of the stateroom prevented my taking much part in the affair, but the mulatto needed no help, as he dragged the cursing Spaniard from his bunk to the deck and throttled him savagely.  Indeed he would have killed the fellow had I not interfered and twisted his hands loose, leaving Estevan barely conscious.  A blanket ripped into strips served to bind him securely enough for the present, but I thought it best to lock the door, and keep the key in my own pocket.  LeVere would have knifed him even as he lay there helpless, but for my threat and insistence.  Once back in the cabin my eyes distinguished the frightened face of the steward peering forth at us from out the dark of the passage leading forward.