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His lips writhed in a
snarling smile.
"Ah, perro ingles! You know too much," he said under his breath,
and sprang for the Captain's throat.
Tight-locked in each other's arms, they swayed a moment, then
together went down upon the deck, the Spaniard's feet jerked from
under him by the right leg of Captain Blood. The Spaniard had
depended upon his strength, which was considerable. But it proved
no match for the steady muscles of the Irishman, tempered of late
by the vicissitudes of slavery. He had depended upon choking
the life out of Blood, and so gaining the half-hour that might be
necessary to bring up that fine ship that was beating towards them
- a Spanish ship, perforce, since none other would be so boldly
cruising in these Spanish waters off Hispaniola. But all that Don
Diego had accomplished was to betray himself completely, and to no
purpose. This he realized when he found himself upon his back,
pinned down by Blood, who was kneeling on his chest, whilst the
men summoned by their Captain's shout came clattering up the
companion.


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