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Updated: May 25, 2025
When Jeremy came dripping down the ladder, early that afternoon, he found the Delaware lad staring at Pharaoh Daggs with a look of positive terror. The buccaneer's evil face was lit up by the rays of the smoky lantern, hung from a hook in one of the deck beams. He sat on the edge of the fo'c's'le table, his heavy shoulders hunched and a long clay pipe in his teeth.
Indeed, there had been little real ground for wishing to punish the boy aside from the ugly temper occasioned by having to row a night and a day in open boats. Only Pharaoh Daggs bore real malice toward Jeremy and his feelings were for the most part concealed under a mask of contemptuous indifference.
Colter had not been so bold nor so rude as Daggs, but he was the same kind of man, perhaps the more dangerous for his secretiveness, his cool, waiting inscrutableness. "'Mawnin', Ellen!" he drawled. "Y'u shore look good for sore eyes." "Don't pay me compliments, Colter," replied Ellen. "An' your eyes are not sore." "Wal, I'm shore sore from fightin' an' ridin' an' layin' out," he said, bluntly.
The form of Pharaoh Daggs in black silhouette against the gray of the sky sent a shudder through Jeremy. He recalled with startling distinctness the solitary man he had seen on the island the night of his capture. The two figures were identical. Pondering, the boy fell asleep. It was some four hours later that he woke to the sound of hurrying oars close aboard.
He was tracking the black horse y'u stole." Jorth's hand and arm dropped limply. His sallow face turned a livid hue. Amaze merged into discomfiture and that gave place to rage. He raised a hand as if to strike Ellen. And suddenly Daggs's long arm shot out to clutch Jorth's wrist. Wrestling to free himself, Jorth cursed under his breath. "Let go, Daggs," he shouted, stridently.
Three other limber-legged Texans lounged there, partners of Daggs, and they were sun-browned, light-haired, blue-eyed men singularly alike in appearance, from their dusty high-heeled boots to their broad black sombreros. They claimed to be sheepmen.
Then the many trails leading away from the Jorth ranch these grew to have a fascination for Ellen; and the time came when she rode out on them to see for herself where they led. The sheep ranch of Daggs, supposed to be only a few miles across the ridges, down in Bear Canyon, never materialized at all for Ellen.
"To let me marry a rustler one of the Hash Knife Gang!" exclaimed Ellen, with weary incredulity. "Wal, your dad belonged to Daggs's gang, same as I do," replied Colter, recovering his cool ardor. "No!" cried Ellen. "Yes, he shore did, for years," declared Colter, positively. "Back in Texas. An' it was your dad that got Daggs to come to Arizona." Ellen tried to fling herself away.
"Where wass da Cap'n's money da gold 'e 'ada-not divide', eh?" Daggs gave a little start and leaned forward scowling. "Who said he had any?" he asked savagely. "Sol Brig kept himself to himself. He never told secrets to any man aboard!" Then he turned and with a black frown at the two boys, climbed through the hatch into the howling smother outside.
"Now, Jeremy," said the skipper, "you say this craft is careened on the other side of the island, close to the place where Stede Bonnet landed us that time? How many men have they?" "We don't know," the boy replied. "But I don't think Daggs had time to gather a big crew, and what's more, he'd figure the fewer the better when it came to splitting up the gold.
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