“Have a care, captain!” cried Robert.  “You are fencing very wildly!  I tell you again that your play with the cutlass is bad.  You can’t see it, but there is now a red spot on your cheek to match the one on your waistcoat.”

His sword darted by the other’s guard, and when it came away it’s point was red with blood.  A deep and dripping gash in the captain’s left cheek showed where it had passed.  The two sailors sitting on the log exchanged looks once more, but there was no sign of a chuckle.

“That’s for being a slaver, captain,” said Robert.  “It’s a bad occupation, and you ought to quit it.  But your wound will leave a scar, and you will not like to say that it was made by one whom you kidnapped, and undertook to carry away to his death.”

The captain in a long career of crime and cruelty had met with but few checks, and to experience one now from the hands of a lad was bitter beyond endurance.  The sting was all the greater because of his knowledge that the two sailors who still exchanged looks but no chuckles, were witnesses of it.  The blood falling from his left cheek stained his left shoulder and he was a gruesome sight.  He rushed in again, mad with anger.

“Worse and worse, captain,” said his young opponent.  “You’re not showing a single quality of a swordsman.  You’ve nothing but strength.  I bade you have a care!  Now your right cheek is a match for your left!”

The captain uttered a cry, drawn as much by anger as by pain.  The deep point of his opponent’s sword had passed across his right cheek and the red drops fell on both shoulders.  The two sailors looked at each other in dismay.  The man paused for breath and he was a ghastly sight.

“I told you more than once to beware, captain,” said Robert, “but you would not heed me.  Your temper has been spoiled by success, but in time nearly every slaver meets his punishment.  I’m grateful that it’s been permitted to me to inflict upon you a little of all that’s owing to you.  Wounds in the face are very painful and they leave scars, as you’ll learn.”

He had already decided upon his finishing stroke, and his taunts were meant to push the captain into further reckless action.  They were wholly successful as the man sprang forward, and slashed almost at random.  Now, Robert, light of foot and agile, danced before him like a fencing master.  The captain cut and thrust at the flitting form but always it danced away, and the heavy slashes of his cutlass cut the empty air, his dripping wounds and his vain anger making him weaker and weaker.  But he would not stop.  Losing all control of his temper he rushed continually at his opponent.

The two sailors looked once more at each other, half rose to their feet, but sat down again, and were silent.

Now the captain saw a flash of light before him, and he felt a darting pain across his brow, as the keen point of the sword passed there.  The blood ran down into his eyes, blinding him for the time.  He could not see the figure before him, but he knew that it was tense and waiting.  He groped with his cutlass, but touching only thin air he threw it away, and clapped his hands to his eyes to keep away the trickling blood.