Dolores laughed contemptuously, flung the torch aside and bade Milo trample it out, then she, too, ascended to the deck to view her victory. The sea was dotted with swimming men, the beach was full of running men, terrified men made the cliff resound with their cries. Then, sure that the schooner was free of foes, Dolores looked toward the sloop, now within hail of the schooner and coming fast with sail and sweeps, while her crew stared over the low bulwarks in puzzlement as to the reason for the hasty exodus from the strange craft.
"Here, Milo, is fresh fare of trouble. Hast brought my own flag?"
"Here, Sultana," replied Milo, taking a carefully folded silken banner from a pocket in his leathern tunic.
"Hoist it, then, at the main! Perhaps Hanglip and Caliban, Stumpy and the rest of my brave jackals, will forego their expected meal at sight of it. And send forth a shout for slaves; this vessel must be cleansed and her people's wounds attended to."
Up at the schooner's lofty main-truck the Sultana's private flag fluttered out; the mark and sign of Dolores's ownership. And while three anxious yachtsmen on the cliff-top waited for her return, a hundred and twenty hungry and thirsty baffled ruffians on the sloop cursed her vehemently in their hoarse, dry throats.