“Not the spot, Manuel?  Of course it is; do you not suppose I know?  The cursed fog made me run in close ashore to where I could see the sloop, so as not to mistake.  This is the place, and now there is nothing to do but wait.  The Senor—­he will be here presently.”

“Ay, unless you misread the signal,” a somewhat more discreet, but piping voice replied doubtfully.  “I saw nothing of all you tell about.”

“Because you knew no meaning, nor read the instructions,” a touch of anger in the tone.  “I tell you it was all written out in that letter brought to me from England on the Wasp.  They were his last orders, and it was because of them that we anchored off the point yonder, and explored this coast.  You saw the Senor touch the handkerchief to his cheek?”

“As he went forward alone—­yes, surely.”

“It was that motion which bade us come here, Manuel.  Once for each cursed plantation along this west coast from the point.  He touched the cloth to his cheek but the once, and this is the first.  I watched for the sign with care for he is not one with whom to make a mistake.”

“Dios de Dios!  Do I not know, Estada?  Have I not a scar here which tells?”

“True, enough; and have I not received also my lesson—­eight hours staked face upward in the sun.  So ’tis my very life wagered on this being the place named.  Besides ’tis proven by the sloop lying there by the wharf.”

“Where then is the Captain?” perversely unsatisfied.

“At the house yonder on the hill—­where else?  He knew how it would be, for this is not his first visit to the Bay.  ’Twas because of his knowledge he could plan in England.  Tis the custom of these planters to stop by night along the way, and go ashore; not to camp, but as guests of some friend.  Only beforehand it was not possible for him to know which plantation would be the one chosen.  That was what he must signal.  You see it now?”

“Clearly, Estada; he is the same wary fox as of old.”

“Never do they catch him napping,” proudly.  “Santa Maria! have I not seen it tried often in ten years?”

“About his plan here?  He wrote you his purpose?”

“Not so much as a word; merely the order what to do.  Dios! he tells nothing, for he trusts no man.  A good thing that.  Yet I have my own thought, Manuel.”

“And what is that?”

The other hesitated, as though endeavoring to rearrange the idea in his own mind, and possibly doubtful of how much to confide to his companion.  When he finally replied his words came forth so swiftly I could scarcely grasp their meaning with my slight knowledge of the tongue.

“’Tis no more than that I make a guess, friend, yet I have been with the Captain for ten years now, and know his way.  This planter Fairfax is rich.  The letter says nothing of that—­no, not a word; but I made inquiries ashore.  There is no one more wealthy in these Colonies, and he returns now from London, after the sale of his tobacco crop.  No doubt he sold for his neighbors also.  ’Tis the way they do, form a combine, and send an agent to England to get the best price.  He will surely bear back with him a great sum.  This the Senor knows; nor is it the first time he has done the trick, Manuel.  Santa Maria! ’tis the easiest one of all.  Then there is the girl.”