"What land is that?" he demanded.
"Will you have the effrontery to tell me that is the coast of
Curacao?"
He advanced upon Don Diego suddenly, and Don Diego, step by step,
fell back. "Shall I tell you what land it is? Shall I?" His fierce
assumption of knowledge seemed to dazzle and daze the Spaniard. For
still Don Diego made no answer. And then Captain Blood drew a bow
at a venture - or not quite at a venture. Such a coast-line as that,
if not of the main itself, and the main he knew it could not be,
must belong to either Cuba or Hispaniola. Now knowing Cuba to lie
farther north and west of the two, it followed, he reasoned swiftly,
that if Don Diego meant betrayal he would steer for the nearer of
these Spanish territories. "That land, you treacherous, forsworn
Spanish dog, is the island of Hispaniola."
Having said it, he closely watched the swarthy face now overspread
with pallor, to see the truth or falsehood of his guess reflected
there. But now the retreating Spaniard had come to the middle of
the quarter-deck, where the mizzen sail made a screen to shut them
off from the eyes of the Englishmen below.
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