"Milo, hurl this liquor cask away!"
Milo picked up the heavy barrel as a man might pick up a cushion, heaved it above his head, and flung it like a cannon-shot at the door, behind which rang the greatest noise, while the pirate, whose care the wine had been, gaped like a stranded fish.
"Now this dog!"
The man followed his cask before his mouth closed from his astonishment; but as he flew his leathern lungs performed their office and warned the pillagers of peril. Out from cabins and storerooms poured the rascals, gorged with fine wines and delicate foods seized in their pillaging; steamy with blood not yet dried on their bestial faces. And when the great saloon was full, Dolores raised her torch above her head and blazed out at them: "In five short breaths this vessel carries all thy black souls to hell! Skulking rats, swim while the breath is in you!"
The torch came down, Milo smashed in the head of the keg, revealing the terrible contents, and as if in grim jest he snatched up a sprinkling of the powder and flicked some grains into the flare of the torch. If there had been any doubt as to the deadly earnestness of Dolores, there could be none now, for sparks crackled and spit in fearful nearness to that open keg. Men stampeded for the stairs, hurling each other down in their frenzy; but Yellow Rufe and Sancho lingered. Theirs had been the gravest fault; if they fled, it must be only to do penance some other day; if they forced Dolores's hand, at least she and that scornful giant must die the death also. They stood their ground, staring defiantly into her expressionless face.
Dolores spoke no word more. Milo stood like a bronze figure of Doom at her side, his noble face expressionless as hers. Between them stood that keg of terrible possibilities. The girl lowered the torch until the flame all but licked the wood of the keg; a dropping piece of charred wood fell audibly against the side. Sancho's breath caught painfully; Yellow Rufe's bloodshot eyes wavered. Still they held on.
"Milo, I give thee freedom!" said Dolores in a low, distinct voice that carried to their ears like the sound of a silver bell. "Farewell, faithful friend!"
The torch swept around, fanning to a blaze in the eddying air, then darted toward the keg. And with a yell that echoed on deck and far out over the sea, Yellow Rufe and Sancho turned and fled, fighting with each other, as had their less bold fellows, for the precious air of safety.