[Illustration: "WITH A SHOUT, STEPHEN SNATCHED UP HIS SWORD AND RUSHED AT
THE ASSASSIN."]

An hour before everything seemed clear, now Stephen blamed himself that he
had prevented the captain from shooting the villain, on the day when the
latter discovered that the gold had gone. And yet the act would have been
murder, for there was no proof that Jacopo intended to play them false.
What, Stephen asked himself, was he to do now? He was certain that the
murderer would not permit him, without an effort, to sail away, and that
he would be able to hide among the trees, and to spring out at any moment
upon him as he came past laden with barrel or sack. It was not even clear
how he could get a wink of sleep, for at any moment the assassin might
crawl up and stab him.

So Stephen passed the night. He watched attentively for the slightest
sound, but he did not think that the fellow was likely to return that
night, for he was certain that he had wounded him very severely; and
besides, the scoundrel would feel sure that he would keep a vigilant
watch. As soon as day broke he got up, and went to the tent to verify a
thought that had struck him during his watch. He counted the muskets;
there were but twenty-two. A cold perspiration broke out on his forehead;
his worst fears were realized. Jacopo had managed during the last day or
two to take two of the muskets and carry them away with him, so that
should his intentions to murder his two companions miscarry, he would be
able to wage war against them. He would certainly have provided himself
with a good store of ammunition. Difficult as the position had seemed
before, the difficulties and dangers were increased tenfold now he knew
that the Peruvian was provided with firearms.

There would be no occasion for an open attack. The fellow would only have
to hide up in the undergrowth and shoot him down as he passed. It was a
danger against which there was no providing; at any moment from the time
he left the tent he would be liable to be shot down by the invisible foe.
Moving about almost mechanically, Stephen boiled some water in a very
thin-skinned gourd, which they had found the best substitute for a kettle.
It was necessary to use a fresh one frequently, but they were plentiful in
the woods, and a supply was always kept on hand. As soon as it boiled, he
threw in a handful of coffee that had been roasted and pounded a day or
two before, laid a chop cut from the pig on the embers, a