With his charred pipe the captain reproduced in miniature the smoking mountain, before he replied.
"It's a snug little fortune for Sally to lose. Besides, the crew's seen the glint o' that gold and it's got 'em like the smile of the light o' loves when the battleships come to port. Haven't we leeway enough to anchor off the cape in the morning, recover the chest, bag the rascals in the bargain, then sail in the afternoon?"
The other shook his head.
"As I said. Monsieur Captain, there may be time but with the women."
The gesture of his hands expressively finished the warning. More than ever the heavy-bowled pipe looked like the mountain above, as the captain puffed and pondered.
"This island was never on any chart. There's no lead can sound its waters, I would swear, no barometer to tell its weather. All we can do is to trust to old witch signs. Let's leave it to the girl."
At his hail she came slowly along the deck, drooping a little and supporting herself by the rail. However, she rallied her spirits and made her choice.
"I'll never touch the stuff after what I've seen, but I can't rob the others. Let's take the chance, once, in the morning, then, whatever happens, sail before sundown."
But the captain felt that inasmuch as history records isolated instances of feminine tacks of mind, in the end, for Ben's sake anyway, she might take her allotment—besides, he knew his men, so he gave his orders for the next watch, and went below.
