The torrential rain beat upon
her bare head and shoulders, causing her to glisten and shine like a
golden goddess; but she heeded it not at all; her eyes sought out what
Stumpy had indicated. And there, in the next lightning-flash, flying
seaward, was the sloop. Rufe had taken alarm, and had foregone his plan
of looting the schooner.

"Let him go; he'll fly not far," she said calmly. "Come with me to the
great rock, my bold fellows; daylight shall show thee Rufe where I would
have him--paying the price, as Sancho has paid!"

She glided around the rock, followed by her silent faithfuls, while from
the Grove rang a shriek of mortal agony that sent fierce hearts aquiver
with terror.

CHAPTER XIII.

DOLORES FLOATS THE FEU FOLLETTE.

"Hell's breath!" screamed Caliban, as the cry rang out. "Have ye devils
in the Grove, mistress?" Hanglip and Spotted Dog, too, cringed back in
fright. Stumpy concealed his uneasiness, yet his eyes searched Dolores's
face questingly. None truly believed in the queen's magic powers; yet
none was bold enough to openly avow his unbelief; and the added grimness
of the storm, assisted by the unearthliness of that howl of anguish,
brought the four godless pirates to the verge of superstitious terror.

"Yes, I keep my devils there," replied Dolores; "and that is the traitor
Sancho answering to them for his perfidy. So watch, and obey me, lest
thy cries, too, go up from my altar!"

She stood apart at the great stone, listening, and presently Milo rolled
up the rock barrier, and appeared in the gloom, calm and cool as if he
had no association with devils, imaginary or otherwise. A livid
lightning-flash played on his features, and the pirates drew back,
muttering at his black eyes which glowed with red points like rubies in
the heart of twin coals.

"Milo, there flies Rufe," said Dolores, flinging an arm seaward. Beyond
the false point, in the midst of black seas dappled with rushing
white-horses, under a lowering black sky that seemed to lean down to the
verge of the ocean itself, Rufe's sloop was pictured in the next flash
of electric radiance a thing of desolation and panic. Fully a mile away,
the craft vanished in the pervading blackness between every flash. "I
need thy condor's vision now as never before. Take the swift, small
sailboat, and flares; follow the sloop as long as thy eyes can pick her
out; we shall follow thy flares in the schooner until we overtake thee.
Haste now; Ruf