e real attraction was the charms of
Dorothy--her girlish beauty, coupled, no doubt, with her father's
wealth. The fellow was in love, impetuously in love, resenting blindly
the slightest advance of any other.

The thought rather pleased me, largely because of its absurdity. It
was, in my case at least, so utterly false, and unjustifiable. To the
ordinary mind, indeed, any such connection would be practically
unthinkable. Even had I been wild enough to dream of such a thing, the
gulf existing between myself and Dorothy Fairfax was far too deep and
wide ever to be spanned. I had before me twenty years of servitude,
and an unknown future; nor could I even conceive the possibility of
any such thought ever entering her mind. The very opposite was what
gave her courage to serve me. I had no false conception as to this;
no vagrant thought that her interest in me was any more than a
passing fancy, born of sympathy, and a desire to aid. Nevertheless, as
she had thus already served me, I now owed her service in return, and
here was the first call. If conditions made it possible it was my
plain duty to place myself between these two. I felt no hatred toward
the man, no desire to do him a personal injury; but I did dislike and
distrust him. This feeling was instinctive, and without the slightest
reference to his seeking intimacy with the girl. From the first moment
I had looked upon his face there had been antagonism between us, a
feeling of enmity. Whether this arose from his appearance, or actions,
I could not determine--but the fellow was not my kind.

In the intensity of my feelings I must have unconsciously spoken
aloud, for a shaggy head suddenly popped out from the berth beneath
where I lay, and an interested voice asked solicitously:

"Hy, thar; whut's up, mate? Sick agin?"

"No," I answered, grinning rather guiltily, "just thinking, and
letting loose a bit. Did I disturb you?"

"Well, I reckon I wa'n't exactly asleep," he acknowledged, without
withdrawing his head. "Ye wus mutterin' 'way thar an' not disturbin'
me none, till ye got ter talkin' 'bout sum feller called Sanchez. Then
I sorter got a bit interested. I know'd thet cuss onct," and he spat,
as though to thus better express his feelings. "The damned ornary
pirate."

I laughed, my whole mental mood changed by this remark.

"It is not very likely we have the same party in mind, Haley. You see
Sanchez is a decidedly common name among Spaniards. I've known two