Free The Black Pearl by Scott O’Dell Page B

and throw it overboard. Then I would have to slit your throat. That would be a shame, for the manta did not cause your father's death."
    The Manta Diablo was still a good distance away and seemed in no hurry to overtake us, idly lifting and lowering his beautiful dark fins. But the Sevillano fastened one end of the harpoon rope and coiled the rest in a neat pile at his feet.
    "When the storm was gathering," he said, "when the whole southern sky was filled with fearsome clouds, I told your father that we should turn back and seek shelter at Las Ánimas. He laughed at me. The wind, he said, was with us and we could reach port before the storm struck. It was a bad decision, he made. And he made it because of the pearl, because of his gift to the Madonna. Not that he ever spoke of the pearl. Oh, no, not once did he mention it while we stood and argued and the wind blew and the clouds banked higher. But all the time the black pearl was there in his mind. I could tell it was there, big and important. I could tell by the way he spoke."
    The Sevillano paused and raised his chin, striking a pose to show how my father had looked. It reminded me of the moment in the parlor when he had given the pearl to Father Gallardo and afterwards when he told my mother that the House of Salazar would be favored in Heaven, now and forever.
    "I could tell," the Sevillano went on, "by the way he spoke, so sure about the storm and everything, that he felt, he knew that God had hold of his hand."
    The Sevillano ran a finger over the iron barb of the harpoon and sighted along the shaft and made a few practice thrusts in the air. While he was doing these things, he said, "If you had the choice to make over again, would you steal the pearl from the Madonna?"
    I hesitated to answer him, confused as I was by what I had just heard and by his question. Before I could speak, he said,
    "No, Ramón Salazar would not steal the pearl. Of course not, now that he knows why the fleet was wrecked. Nor would he steal the pearl from his good pal, Gaspar Ruiz."
    The Sevillano waited for me to answer, but I was silent. I sat in the bow of the boat and watched the Manta Diablo swimming effortlessly along behind us. Already I had decided what I would do if he killed the Manta Diablo or if he failed. Whether it was one or the other, I now saw clearly how I must act and that this I would not tell him.

17
    T HE M ANTA D IABLO swam by once more, again just out of reach, and made a wide circle and came back. As he overtook the boat for the third time that morning, he passed closer than before. It seemed that this time he was daring the Sevillano to throw the harpoon, for the amber eyes of the monster were fixed upon him and not upon me.
    The Sevillano gave a loud grunt and I heard the harpoon leave his hand and the rope twisted like a snake and shot upwards. A loop caught my foot and I was thrown against the bulwarks. I thought for an instant that I would be dragged into the sea, but somehow the rope came loose.
    Sprawled against the side of the boat, I saw the long harpoon curve outward and down and
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    then sink. It struck the Manta Diablo squarely between his outspread wings.
    A moment later the rope which held the harpoon snapped taut and the boat leaped from the sea and fell back with a shudder that rattled my teeth. It then slid back and forth, but once the rope tightened again, it began to move forward.
    "Your friend takes us in the right direction," said the Sevillano and settled down at the tiller as if he were on his way to a fiesta. "At this rate we should be in Guaymas by tomorrow."
    But the Manta Diablo swam eastward for only a short distance and then turned and headed into the west. He swam slowly, so that no water came aboard, as if he did not wish to disturb us in any way. He swam along a path straighter than I could have charted with a compass, toward the place we both knew well.
    "Now your friend takes us in the wrong direction," said the Sevillano.