Without a word, evidently glad to escape thus easily, Estada vanished into the gloom, leaving behind only the vague figure of Sanchez pacing the sands, his lips muttering curses.  I dared not move, scarcely indeed to breathe, so closely did he skirt my covert.  To venture forth would mean certain discovery; nor could I hope to steal away through the bushes, where any twig might snap beneath my foot.  What could I do?  How could I bring warning to those sleeping victims?  This heartless discussion of robbery and murder left me cold with horror, yet helpless to lift a hand.  I had no thought of myself, of my possible fate when once delivered into the hands of this monster, this arch villain, but all my agony of mind centered on the imminent danger confronting Dorothy Fairfax, and those unsuspecting men.  All my preconceived impressions of Sanchez had vanished; he was no longer in my imagination a weakling, a boastful, cowardly bravado, a love-sick fool; but a leader of desperate men, a villain of the deepest dye—­the dreaded pirate, Black Sanchez, whose deeds of crime were without number, and whose name was infamous.  Confronted by Fairfax’s ill-guarded gold, maddened by the girl’s contemptuous indifference, no deed of violence and blood was too revolting for him to commit.  What he could not win by words, he would seize by force and make his own.  As coolly as another might sell a bolt of cloth, he would plan murder and rape, and then smilingly watch the execution.  And I—­what could I do?

The little band of men emerged from the concealment of the fog noiselessly, and gathered into a group about the figure of Sanchez, where he stood motionless awaiting them.  I could distinguish no faces, scarcely indeed the outlines of their separate forms in the gloom, but one was an unusually big fellow, far taller and heavier than his companions.  When he spoke he possessed a negro’s voice, and I recognized him at once for Cochose.  The Captain swept his impatient eyes about the circle.

“Lads,” he said, incisively, a sharper note of leadership in the tone “it has been a bit quiet for you lately; but now I am back again, and we’ll try our luck at sea once more.  There must be many a laden ship waiting for us.  Does that sound good?”

There was a savage growl of response, a sudden leaning forward of dark figures.

“I thought it would.  We’ll begin on a job tonight.  There are fifty thousand pounds for us in that house yonder, and I waive my share.  Estada will explain to you the work I want done; see that you do it quietly and well.  By daylight we shall be on blue water, with our course set for Porto Grande.  How is it, bullies, do you sniff the salt sea?”

“Ay, ay, Captain.”

“And see the pretty girls waiting—­and hear the chink of gold?”

“Ay, Senor.”

“Then do not fail me tonight—­and remember, it is to be the knife.  Estada.”

“Here, Senor.”

“I have forgotten one thing—­scuttle the sloop before joining me.  ’Tis better to make all safe; and now, strong arms, and good luck.  Go to your task, and if one fails me, it will mean the lash at the mast-butt.”