Free Voyage of Plunder by Michele Torrey Page B

your mouths shut about it.…”
    Suddenly one of the pistols blasted. With no more than a wheeze, eyes wide, Hairy crumpled to the ground. I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.
    “And third, I'm much obliged to you for digging your grave and saving me the trouble.”
    Rat Eye sprang to his feet and sprinted for the jungle. He took four steps, five, beforethe other pistol rang out. His cry cut off, Rat Eye sprawled on his face, twitched, then lay still.
    Smoke hovered about Fist's head. “Fools,” he hissed. “Let what is buried stay buried.”
    After stowing his pistols and glancing again down the path, he pried Hairy's hand open and retrieved every diamond ring, pearl necklace, gold coin, ruby, and emerald, tossing them back into the chest. He then shoved Hairy with his booted foot. Eyes open and glazed, Hairy slid over the edge of the pit and disappeared. Fist dragged Rat Eye across the sand and flung him in after Hairy. There was a soft, sickening thud.
    For a long time, Fist stood at the edge of the pit, staring down. He filled his pipe, lit it, and smoked. Soon the air reeked of tobacco. I wanted to run away as fast as I could, shrieking at the top of my lungs. The desire pushed against my breastbone, and I clenched my jaw.
Why doesn't he hurry?
    Still Fist smoked, until finally he emptied his pipe and stowed it, then bent and closed the chest. The lock clicked. He pushed the chest until it rested at the lip of the pit. With a grunt, he jumped into the hole and lifted the treasure down.
    He will fill the pit, and then he will leave,
I thought, wondering how long I could keep my wits together. Not only did I want to shriek bloody hell, but the damp jungle had soaked me through, insects kept biting me, my legs cramped, and slimy and sucking things crawled over my bare feet.
    Fist climbed out and surveyed the situation, scratching his beard absently, as if, again, he had all the time in the world. Then, to my anguish, he took out his pipe again and strolled over to the hut. He arranged his cutlass and pistols, then sat on the top step to smoke.
    By the devil! That's Fist's hut!
    I almost groaned in agony, thinking of all the hours I'd spentrebuilding the place and cleaning it up. Now I realized all the time had been wasted. I couldn't stay there. Then the hair prickled on the back of my neck. Slowly at first, then rising like a bristle brush.
    My shoes are inside. My candles and tinderbox. My dagger. My hammock. A Bible. If Fist looks inside …
    As if reading my thoughts, Fist's head jerked up, like an animal that catches a scent. He reached out and grasped the new veranda railings as if seeing them for the first time. He looked at the steps, newly repaired. Faster than I thought a giant of a man could move, he fetched the lantern from near the pit and then thundered up the steps and into the hut. I saw light gleaming and moving from between the cracks. Returning to the veranda, Fist set down the lantern and drew his cutlass.
    With the rasp of steel, chills swept down my spine. Every hair on my body stood on end.
Should I run? Should I stay where I am? Should I just shoot him with my pistol? What if I miss? O God in heaven, I'm a dead man.
    Fist circled the perimeter of the clearing, quietly, slowly, brushing aside the vegetation with his cutlass and peering beyond. While there wasn't a path between the clearing and the dump where I now crouched, there must have been some kind of indication that I had passed through there, for upon reaching that point, Fist paused, knelt, and studied the ground. Then, to my horror, he stood, brushed aside vines and branches, and entered.
    My God, he's coming!
    I waited a few more seconds to be certain, then fled in the opposite direction, into the pitch black, my legs screaming with cramps, my ears thundering with the beat of my heart. An instant later, I stumbled over the debris pile. A sound escaped my lips. Before I even knew what I was doing, I was off and running