As the canoe slipped out of the dense gloom of the ship's shadow, Elsie

heard the wrathful chief officer interviewing the Chilean sailors on

watch on the main deck fore and aft. That is to say, he stirred them

up from the bridge with a ritual laid down for such extreme cases. Not

yet had he realized the exceeding artifice which the girl displayed in

throwing him and all the others off their guard. She had maneuvered

Suarez into the canoe with the fierce and silent strategy of a Red

Indian.

The Argentine squatted on his knees in the bows, Gray placed himself

amidships, and Elsie sat aft, holding the revolver in her right hand

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and the dog's collar in her left. The American groped for and found a

paddle, which he plied vigorously.

"Guess you'd better discourse," said he over his shoulder, when the

light craft was well clear of the ship.

"You understand Spanish, I think?"

"Yes."

"Please tell Suarez to cease paddling and listen. Don't move. I can

trust you, but I may have to shoot him."

"Best hand me that pop-gun, Miss Maxwell. The gentleman in front seems

to have a wholesome respect for you already; anything you say goes,

where he is concerned. I am taking your word for it his name is

Suarez, but he looks, and smells, more like an Indian."

"I forced him to dress in his discarded clothes. He may be able now to

scare any of the savages we come across. But why should I give you my

weapon, Mr. Gray?"

"Because I can hit most things I aim at, whereas you are more likely to

bore a hole through me as a preliminary. Moreover, you have the dog

with you, and even the wisest dog may bark at the wrong moment. You

must have both hands at liberty to choke his enthusiasm."

"Do you pledge your word to go on with my scheme?"

"That is what I am here for."

"Take the revolver, then."

"Sure it's loaded?"

"Quite sure. I have fifteen extra cartridges, but, as I have practised

refilling it in the dark, give it to me if you have occasion to empty

it."

"You seem to have thought this thing out pretty fully?"

"I intend to succeed. Now, please, I must explain what I want Suarez

to do."

Speaking in Spanish, slow and clear, while the canoe drifted steadily

up the bay with the rising tide, Elsie unfolded her project. Behind

the guardian cliff of Otter Creek a ridge of rocks created a small

natural harbor. It was the custom of the Alaculofs, when the weather

was calm, and they meant to use their craft at daybreak, to anchor most

of their vessels in this sheltered break-water. At other times the

canoes were drawn ashore, but she reasoned that such a precaution would

not be taken during the present excitement. That was the first part of

her program--to capture the entire fleet, including the life-boat. In

any event, she intended to go next to the hidden cleft at the foot of

Guanaco Hill, trusting to the dog's sagacity to reveal the retreat

where she believed that her lover and many of his men were hidden. If

a squad of Indians mounted guard there, the reappearance of Suarez in

his war paint, backed by the alarm of a night attack from the sea,

might mystify the enemy sufficiently to permit of a landing, while the

frequent reports of the revolver would certainly lead to a counter

demonstration by Courtenay. Suarez was the only man on the Kansas

who could act as guide, and the penalty of his refusal would be instant

death. She had provided a strong, sharp knife to cut the thongs which

fastened the canoes to their anchor-stones. For the rest, she trusted

to the darkness. It was her fixed resolve to succeed or die.