onless. They stood gaping, bewildered at the sudden apparition of an armed man leaping from the doorway of Falcon's cabin; and Lachlan, turning his back on them, drove for the Spaniard with a shout.
With a clash the swords crossed. The Spaniard gave ground, fighting carefully, devoting himself wholly to defence. He, too, was bewildered—not only bewildered but alarmed; and in an instant Lachlan read the man's mind, understood that he believed himself in a trap.
It was no time for hair-splitting niceties. Lachlan knew that he must win his way quickly to the brig's stern, where he had told Almayne to hold the canoe in readiness, for in a few minutes at most Falcon's seamen would join the fight. Between thrusts, he taunted the Spaniard in his own tongue: "Spanish spy," he said, "we have you now and you'll hang for it." Then in a louder voice, as though addressing men behind the Spaniard, "Close in, lads! Take him alive." And all the while he drove fiercely forward, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, forcing his opponent backward step by step towards the brig's stern.
Yet Don Ruy Ortiz fought well. Convinced that he had stepped into an ambush and that he was assailed by many enemies, he did the one thing that he could do, dealt with the only enemy that he saw. He fought awary battle, giving ground freely, taking no chances. At Lachlan's shout, "Close in, lads!" he leaped sideways, placing his back against the cabin, so that he might not be taken in the rear by new foes; but when
