Casca 10: The Conquistador by Barry Sadler Read Free Book Online

Ortiz.
    "There is yet a long way to go before we reach Cuba, Captain. I would hate to have our journey interrupted by any further unpleasantness. For if that did happen, I would feel compelled to address the matter to you personally in the strongest manner I am capable of."
    Ortiz knew exactly what the scar-faced man meant. He nodded his understanding as the door closed behind them.
    Vargas made no overt move against Casca and Juan, but he never stopped watching them or remembering the humiliation of the way he had been treated in front of his captain. Ortiz had not said anything to him; he merely looked at him with contempt and dismissed him as he would a common deck hand. As the days passed, the fair winds did nothing to decrease the growing hatred he felt for the two men. In time he had found a dozen reasons for his not being able to break the steel grasp of the one called Romano. His treatment of his crew became even harsher as he fought to regain his self- esteem by abusing those beneath him. And with each act of domination, his courage began to return. Hate combined with renewed confidence gave him all the more reason to take revenge. He knew that Captain Ortiz would not be displeased if the two somehow met with a fatal accident before they reached Havana. He would wait and mark time until the proper opportunity presented itself.
    Casca and Juan spent their hours in swordplay, as did most of those who planned on winning their fortunes in the New World on the point of their weapons. Juan had a good wrist and used it to his advantage, often parrying Casca's strong thrusts with little effort. Casca didn't let him know that this was done with his help. He wanted to build the smaller man's confidence in himself. Subtly, he let Juan learn techniques that he had not been taught in the fencing schools of Spain, techniques that could well mean the difference between life and death for the young man. Only Casca had any idea of what they might have to face if things went as he thought they would and the Spanish at last found their way to the lands where dark-skinned warriors wore the bright, rainbow-colored feathers of rare birds and human sacrifices had been and might still be made on stone altars to terrible and bloody gods.
    He liked the young man, though he knew that pride such as Juan felt had led to thousands of deaths in the past and would cause even more in the future. He knew better than to try to change the customs and teachings of generations overnight. But if Juan survived, time might be the best instructor of all. Juan's physical strength was not great, but he wasn't lacking in courage. He would do. If he lived long enough, he might even achieve that which he sought; namely, to rebuild his family's fortune and return to Spain in the manner befitting a grandee of Castile.
    They reached the southern waters, where the sky and winds grew warmer and dolphins raced in front of the ship as if they were welcoming or guiding the caravel to a safe harbor. The waters became crystal clear, where a man could look down through the depths over thirty meters and see the animals of the warm seas as clearly as if they were in a fishbowl. Islands appeared with increasing frequency, green palm-dotted spots of land that beckoned them to stop and rest. But Ortiz had no mind for such things and made only one short detour to a flat, isolated island less than two miles around. This was done only to replenish their supply of fresh water, and no one other than the landing party was permitted to leave the ship. Once the kegs had been filled at a spring and brought back on board, they set sail for the last leg of their journey. Cuba was now only a three-day sail.
    Luis Vargas had observed his quarry long enough to know their patterns. Juan and his ugly friend had made a habit of rising with the predawn to come on deck and take the morning air. It was their custom to sit on the railings by the bow and face into the path of the ship. It should not