Martin Conisby

"Hanged my comrade Jem, a did, along o' many others o' the Fellowship!" growled the squat man, flourishing his knife, "Moreover the Cap'n says 'blind' says he, so blind it is, says I, and this the knife to--" The growling voice was drowned in the roar of a pistol and, dropping his knife, the fellow screamed and caught at his hurt.

"And there's for you, yes!" said Joanna, smiling into the man's agonised face, "Be thankful I spared your worthless life. Crawl into the boat, worm, and wait till I'm minded to patch up your hurt--Go!"

For a moment was silence, then came a great gust of laughter, and men clapped and pummelled each other.

"La Culebra!" they roared. "'Tis our Jo, 'tis Fighting Jo, sure and sartain; 'tis our luck, the luck o' the Brotherhood--ha, Joanna!"

But, tossing aside the smoking pistol, Joanna scowled from them to their captain.

"Hola, Belvedere," said she. "Your dogs do grow out of hand; 'tis well I'm back again. Now for these my prisoners, seize 'em up, bind 'em fast and heave 'em aboard ship."

"Aye, but," said Belvedere, fingering his beard, "why aboard, Jo, when we may do their business here and prettily. Yon's a tree shall make notable good gallows or--look now, here's right plenty o' kindling, and driftwood shall burn 'em merrily and 'twill better please the lads--"

"But then I do pleasure myself, yes. So aboard ship they go!"

"Why, look now, Jo," said Belvedere, biting at his thumb, "'tis ever my rule to keep no prisoners--"

"Save women, Cap'n!" cried a voice, drowned in sudden evil laughter.

"So, as I say, Joanna, these prisoners cannot go aboard my ship."

"Your ship?" said she, mighty scornful. "Ah, ah, but 'twas I made you captain of your ship and 'tis I can unmake you--"

"Why look ye, Jo," said Belvedere, gnawing at his thumb more savagely and glancing towards his chafing company, "the good lads be growing impatient, being all heartily for ending these prisoners according to custom--"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n!" cried divers of the men, beginning to crowd upon us again. "To the fire with 'em! Nay, send aboard for Black Pompey! Aye, Pompey's the lad to set 'em dancing Indian fashion--"

"You hear, Jo, you hear?" cried Belvedere. "The lads are for ending of 'em sportive fashion--especially the Don; he must die slow and quaint for sake 'o the good lads as do hang a-rotting on his cursed gibbets e'en now--quaint and slow; the lads think so and so think I--"

"But you were ever a dull fool, my pretty man, yes!" said Joanna, showing her teeth. "And as for these rogues, they do laugh at you--see!" But as Belvedere turned to scowl upon and curse his ribalds, Joanna deftly whisked the pistols from his belt and every face was smitten to sudden anxious gravity as she faced them.