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

be too difficult to arrange an accident. He was not concerned about Casca; he knew that he could take care of him. If he waited in the shadows, two quick strikes with a belaying pin would take care of them, and both would be over the side in less time than a heartbeat. He'd take out the scarred one first and then the youngster. With surprise on his side, he had no doubt about his ability to accomplish his desire. Let them swim to Cuba.
    The nights had become heavy and oppressive in the small confines of the tiny cabin. Casca had always been an early riser and used this as a chance to go to the upper decks, where the breeze from the sea could wipe away the cobwebs of a troubled sleep filled with night sweats. Juan had taken to accompanying him. It seemed as if the hours before the dawn were when the soul was most awake. They'd sit on the bow and talk of many things, some in the past and some yet to come. De Castro was amazed at how much history his new friend knew. Although much of what this man, Romano, said was near heresy or even treason, there was something in the voice that said he was telling the truth or at least the truth as he believed it.
    Vargas stood by the sail locker, hidden in the shadows, waiting for his quarry to present itself. He enjoyed the anticipation of the coming event. He would redeem himself in the eyes of Captain Ortiz, and then all would be well. A head came up from the stairwell leading below deck. It was joined by another. Casca and Juan took their time walking with the roll of the ship toward the bow. Vargas sucked in his breath, holding it in as his heart began to beat faster. As the two men neared him, his hand gripped the belaying pin tighter. His muscles tensed, his legs beginning to tremble at the strain of containing his desire. He wanted Romano; the other was just an added bonus. Casca was in the lead. That was good. He'd brain him first and then smash the smaller man before he had time to react or cry out.
    It would have gone as he planned if fate hadn't taken a hand. As Casca passed him, Vargas moved out to strike, his arm rising to crush the belaying pin down on the skull of his prey. Unfortunately for him, when he raised his arm up with the pin, he hit the side of the sail locker. Casca turned in time to catch the blow on his left forearm. The heavy hardwood pin nearly broke the bone. He turned under the blow, dropping his body and shoulder down at right angles to his attacker. Casca lowered his body to where his shoulder was on a level with Vargas's waist. Vargas's own momentum threw him onto Casca's shoulder. Grasping Vargas by the tunic with his free hand, Casca thrust back up with his leg muscles, raising Vargas off the deck, waist over his shoulder.
    When his shoulder hit Vargas in the gut, it took the air out of the second mate. He was still trying to suck in a breath as Casca twisted and turned, heaving him into the air. The second mate just had time to take one quick breath before he hit the water. Juan never had time to do anything. The whole event was a blur. When all this was over, Casca had a feeling that the events were vaguely familiar, and he recalled a distant moment when he had performed much the same act while passing through the Straits of Messina.
    The watch on the quarterdeck heard a cry for help come from the starboard side. He knew the voice well; it had chewed him out more than once and mocked him as it meted out twenty lashes with the knot. The seaman rushed to the side and looked down. He saw Casca and Juan standing there, looking back to where the voice now cried less loudly for help. The watch had a pretty good idea of what had taken place. He looked about to see whether anyone else had heard Vargas's cry. There was no sign of it. He returned to his watch rather pleased that he had been able to settle the score with the second mate at no risk to himself.
    Juan knew that Vargas had been trying to kill them, and he considered the man no great loss. One who came