ll height, her rosy,
false lips sought his and fastened there while he staggered as if drunk.

"There, heart o' mine!" she panted. "Dost believe now? Or must I tell
thee again that with such love as mine proud Dolores cannot hurt thee.
Come! Such a chance will never come thy way again. Man! 'Tis her
confidence Dolores offers thee. Shall it go begging because of thy
madness?"

"Pascherette!" returned Sancho hoarsely. "I will go with thee. But,
girl, thy heart's blood pours at first sign of treachery! Mark that
well. And tell me now, does Yellow Rufe share in this mercy?"

"No, Sancho. It cannot be. Dolores has sworn to hunt him down; the woods
are full of men even now, seeking him and thee. Only by going with me
wilt thou escape them and have advantage from my pleading with the
queen." She drew his head down to her ear, and whispered rapidly. Doubt,
then admiration, crept into Sancho's voice as he said: "Dost think it
can be done? Can he gain the sloop unseen?"

"I will make it easy, Sancho. Bid Rufe have no fear. The storm will be
upon us within an hour. It is dark; there is wind aplenty. With six men
he may win clear; and listen: If he is stout of heart, what is to stop
him taking tribute from the stranger's white vessel?"

"Lack o' powder, girl," returned Sancho angrily. "Thy mistress keeps us
short of powder, as well thou dost know, lest we become too strong for
her. Who of us has ever seen the store? Not I, by Satan! Canst thou get
powder and shot for Rufe?"

"Simpleton! Can he not get with steel all he wants from the schooner?"

"By the heart of Portuguez, he can!" cried another voice, and Yellow
Rufe strode through the bushes.

"Rufe!" exclaimed the girl, feigning astonishment. Her ears were too
keen not to have caught Rufe's voice in the whispering that had gone
on.

"Yes, Rufe, and obliged to thee, Pascherette. Dost say thou wilt help me
win away?"

"Gladly, Rufe, for I like well men of your mettle. Follow close behind
Sancho and me. Count ten score after we go in to Dolores with Milo, then
for an hour thou'lt have the sea to thyself. Luck go with thee, Rufe;
thou'lt think of little Pascherette sometimes, I'll warrant."

A rumble of thunder rolled up from the sea, and lightning played in the
tree-tops. Pascherette turned back toward the camp, and giving no heed
to Sancho save to listen for his footsteps, she ran through the darkness
sure-footed, sure-eyed as a cat. Rain began to fall, and the heavy