XVIII
THE CATASTROPHE
He approached me with a confidence that proclaimed the new leader. A brace of Colt's revolvers swung from his belt, the tatters of his blood-stained garments hung about him.
"Well, here we are," he remarked.
I nodded, waiting for what he had to disclose.
"And lucky for you that you're here at all, say I," he continued. "And now that you're here, w'at are you going to do? That's the question—w'at are you going to do?" He cocked his head sidewise and looked at me speculatively as a cat might look at a rather large mouse. "We been a little rough," he went on after a moment, "and some folks is strait-laced. There might be trouble. And you know a heap too much."
"What do you want of me?" I demanded.
"It's just this," he returned briskly. "If you'll lay us our course to San Salvador, we'll let you go as one of us and no questions asked."
"If not?" I inquired.
He shrugged his shoulders. "I leave it to you."
"There's always the sea," I suggested.
"And it's deep," he agreed.
We looked out to the horizon in a diplomatic silence. I did not know whether to be angry, amused,
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