Stolen Treasure | Page 4

and
oaths and outcrying and the clashing of knives.
As Master Harry, who had no great stomach for such a combat, and no
very particular interest in the quarrel, was making for the door, a little
Portuguese, as withered and as nimble as an ape, came ducking under
the table and plunged at his stomach with a great long knife, which, had
it effected its object, would surely have ended his adventures then and
there.
Finding himself in such danger, Master Harry snatched up a heavy
chair, and, flinging it at his enemy, who was preparing for another
attack, he fairly ran for it out of the door, expecting every instant to feel
the thrust of the blade betwixt his ribs.
A considerable crowd had gathered outside, and others, hearing the
uproar, were coming running to join them. With these our hero stood,
trembling like a leaf, and with cold chills running up and down his back
like water at the narrow escape from the danger that had threatened
him.
Nor shall you think him a coward, for you must remember he was
hardly sixteen years old at the time, and that this was the first affair of
the sort he had encountered. Afterwards, as you shall learn, he showed
that he could exhibit courage enough at a pinch.
While he stood there endeavoring to recover his composure, the while

the tumult continued within, suddenly two men came running almost
together out of the door, a crowd of the combatants at their heels. The
first of these men was Captain Sylvia; the other, who was pursuing him,
was Captain Morgan.
As the crowd about the door parted before the sudden appearing of
these, the Spanish captain, perceiving, as he supposed, a way of escape
opened to him, darted across the street with incredible swiftness
towards an alleyway upon the other side. Upon this, seeing his prey like
to get away from him, Captain Morgan snatched a pistol out of his sling,
and resting it for an instant across his arm, fired at the flying Spaniard,
and that with so true an aim that, though the street was now full of
people, the other went tumbling over and over all of a heap in the
kennel, where he lay, after a twitch or two, as still as a log.
At the sound of the shot and the fall of the man the crowd scattered
upon all sides, yelling and screaming, and the street being thus pretty
clear, Captain Morgan ran across the way to where his victim lay, his
smoking pistol still in his hand, and our hero following close at his
heels.
Our poor Harry had never before beheld a man killed thus in an instant
who a moment before had been so full of life and activity, for when
Captain Morgan turned the body over upon its back he could perceive
at a glance, little as he knew of such matters, that the man was stone
dead. And, indeed, it was a dreadful sight for him who was hardly more
than a child. He stood rooted for he knew not how long, staring down at
the dead face with twitching fingers and shuddering limbs. Meantime a
great crowd was gathering about them again.
As for Captain Morgan, he went about his work with the utmost
coolness and deliberation imaginable, unbuttoning the waistcoat and
the shirt of the man he had murdered with fingers that neither twitched
nor shook. There were a gold cross and a bunch of silver medals hung
by a whip-cord about the neck of the dead man. This Captain Morgan
broke away with a snap, reaching the jingling baubles to Harry, who
took them in his nerveless hand and fingers that he could hardly close
upon what they held.

The papers Captain Morgan found in a wallet in an inner breast-pocket
of the Spaniard's waistcoat. These he examined one by one, and finding
them to his satisfaction, tied them up again, and slipped the wallet and
its contents into his own pocket.
Then for the first time he appeared to observe Master Harry, who,
indeed, must have been standing the perfect picture of horror and
dismay. Whereupon, bursting out a-laughing, and slipping the pistol he
had used back into its sling again, he fetched poor Harry a great slap
upon the back, bidding him be a man, for that he would see many such
sights as this.
But, indeed, it was no laughing matter for poor Master Harry, for it was
many a day before his imagination could rid itself of the image of the
dead Spaniard's face; and as he walked away down the street with his
companions, leaving the crowd behind them, and the dead body where
it lay for its friends to look after, his