Was
it another pirate? What possible errand could bring a steamer to
this remote, unvisited, all but forgotten little island? Had
somebody else heard the story of the _Bonny Lass_ and come after
the doubloons, unknowing that we were beforehand with them? If so,
must we do battle for our rights?
The boat shot in between the points and skimmed swiftly over the
rippling surface of the cove, under the rhythmic strokes of half a
dozen flashing oars. The rowers wore a trim white uniform, and in
the stern a tall figure, likewise white-clad, turned toward us a
dark face under a pith helmet.
As the oarsmen drove the boat upon the beach the man in the stern
sprang agilely ashore. Dugald Shaw stepped forward, and the
stranger approached, doffing his helmet courteously.
"You are the American and English party who landed here some weeks
ago from the _Rufus Smith_?"
His English was easy and correct, though spoken with a pronounced
Spanish accent. His dark high-featured face was the face of a
Spaniard. And his grace was the grace of a Spaniard, as he bowed
sweepingly and handed Mr. Shaw a card.
"Senor Don Enrique Gonzales," said Dugald, bowing in his
stiff-necked fashion, "I am very happy to meet you. But as you
represent His Excellency the President of the Republic of Santa
Marina I suppose you come on business, Senior Gonzales?"
"Precisely.
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