inst the other?"

"Yes, if possible; I know no other way. These sailor men are of all
races. Can they be trusted?"

He sat bending forward, his hands on his knees, his dark face far from
pleasant. I had every reason to know the fellow to be criminal,
desperate, guilty of everything in the calendar, and yet I must place
confidence in him. Only as we worked together now was there any
prospect of success.

"Some might be; it is hard to tell how many. It is not the race which
counts so much, Senor. There are those among them who would not care
to return to honesty."

"And you, LeVere?"

He spread his hands, and shrugged his shoulders.

"There is no hope of me; I was born to the free life."

"What then is it with you?"

"Hate, Senor--revenge," and his teeth gleamed savagely. "I would spit
on this Manuel who seeks to be chief. I can never be---no; I am of
black skin, with negro blood in my veins, and white men would never
have it so. But I can hate, Senor. That is why I am with you now, if
the devil so will. Your plan might work--tell me more of it."

"It is simple enough, LeVere, and came to me but now as I looked upon
Estada lying there dead. Treachery killed him, and that treachery must
have purpose behind it. You believe this to be the ambition of Manuel
Estevan to become chief, and that in this he is backed by those
buccaneers amidships whom he commands. But to accomplish this end
there must soon be other murders aboard--the Captain Sanchez, and
possibly our own as well, although 'tis likely he may offer us life to
join him. But I doubt if the fellow be ready yet to throw off the mask
and openly declare himself. He will claim the murder of Estada to be
the act of some fiendish member of the crew, and wait until things
aboard ripen to his purpose. He is not likely to dream that we suspect
him. This gives us our chance--we can act before he does."

"But if the men are with him?"

"What are the odds, say you--thirty to a hundred? Ay, but surprise
will overcome that. My plan is this; first, for you and I to secure
Manuel, as quietly as possible, but at whatever cost. Surely that can
be done. With him in our hands, or dead, the buccaneers have no
leader. What then? There are men in the crew on deck and in the
forecastle to be trusted--Watkins is one, and he will know others, a
dozen, no doubt. They will be enough. We will whisper the truth to
these, and have them ready for a signal. The forward door from
amidsh