Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (230 page)

"What
about
breakfast?"
suggested
Patterson.

"I
knew
you'd
think
me
loopy,"
said
Judd.
"All
right,
come
on
back to
the
hut."

They
scrambled
to
their
feet,
and
there
was
an
awkward
constraint between
them.
Then
Patterson
pulled
Judd's
ami.

"What's
that?
Look,
over
there!
Is
that
another
confounded mirage?"

Judd
screwed
up
his
eyes.
Beside
the
rocks,
where
seaweed
flourished
like
green
moss,
a
woman
stood,
skirts
kilted
in
her
hand.
She was
barefoot,
and
sprang
from
one
rock
to
another,
with
the
grace and
agility
of
a
deer.
She
was
gathering
mussels.
As
she
worked
she sang,
and
the
drowsy,
bell-like
sweetness
of
her
voice
was
wafted faintly
to
their
ears
all
mingled
with
the
cry
of
seagulls.

"Oh,
that,"
said
Judd.
"Well,
you'd
better
remember
to
act
respectful
when
she's
about.
That's
Doña
Inés,
the
Captain's
girl.
She was
his
prisoner;
he
had
her
with
him
on
his
boat
when
the
crew of
the
Black
Joke
mutinied,
and
they
were
cast
up
here
together.
At least,
they
both
say
so.
First
she
hated
him,
then
loved
him
for
forty years
or
so,
and
since
then,
for
about
a
hundred
years,
she's
been fed
up,
but
he's
still
keen
on
her.
So
keep
away,
that's
my
advice. Once
Heywood
went
snooping
after
her,
and
the
Captain
cut
his throat.
He'd
have
died
elsewhere,
of
course,
and
he
suffered
the
tortures
of
hell,
he
told
me.
He'll
show
you
the
scar
if
you're
interested."

"Wait,"
said
Patterson,
"you've
given
me
a
turn
with
your
crazy talk,
and
she's
coming
towards
us.
There's
no
harm,
I
suppose,
in speaking
to
her?"

"None,
as
long
as
you're
respectful."

They
waited
there
on
the
beach
while
the
woman
approached them.
She
was
young,
about
twenty,
and
extremely
handsome.
She wore
a
stiff,
flowing
skirt
of
burning
crimson,
and
a
little
jacket
of orange.
Her
dark,
rippling
hair
hung
like
a
black
plume
down
her back,
and
her
oval,
vivid
face
was
delicately
modeled,
with
high
cheekbones,
a
mouth
like
red
blossom,
and
immense
velvety-brown
eyes.

She
was
Spanish,
of
course,
and
well
bred;
her
wrists
were
fragile, exquisite,
her
bare
feet
slender
and
arched.
Her
body
was
lithe,
graceful
and
voluptuous;
she
moved
swiftly,
as
though
she
danced,
and
as she
drew
near
to
the
two
men,
a
sudden
soft
breeze
blew
a
lock
of floating
ebon
hair
across
the
fire
and
sweetness
of
her
mouth.

Patterson
was
dazed;
he
had
encountered
much
superstition
during the
course
of
the
morning,
his
stomach
was
empty,
and
he
was
but ill-prepared
for
such
beauty.
Doña
Inés
said
gayly,
speaking
fluent, attractive
English:

"Good
morning
to
you,
señor.
I
heard
last
night
of
your
arrival,
but was
not
allowed
to
greet
you,
as
I
so
much
desired.
Please
forgive
my execrable
manners.
We
shall
see
so
much
of
one
another
that
it
would be
as
well
to
start
our
acquaintance
on
friendly
terms."