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famous Capataz. Before the steamer, guided by a shriek or
two (for there could be no more than that, Nostromo said,
gnashing his teeth audibly), could find the lighter there
would be plenty of time to sink this treasure tied up round
his neck.
The last words he hissed into Decoud’s ear. Decoud said
nothing. He was perfectly convinced. The usual charac-
teristic quietness of the man was gone. It was not equal to
the situation as he conceived it. Something deeper, some-
thing unsuspected by everyone, had come to the surface.
Decoud, with careful movements, slipped off his overcoat
and divested himself of his boots; he did not consider him-
self bound in honour to sink with the treasure. His object
was to get down to Barrios, in Cayta, as the Capataz knew
very well; and he, too, meant, in his own way, to put into
that attempt all the desperation of which he was capable.
Nostromo muttered, ‘True, true! You are a politician, senor.
Rejoin the army, and start another revolution.’ He pointed
out, however, that there was a little boat belonging to every
lighter fit to carry two men, if not more. Theirs was towing
behind.
Of that Decoud had not been aware. Of course, it was too
dark to see, and it was only when Nostromo put his hand
upon its painter fastened to a cleat in the stern that he ex-
perienced a full measure of relief. The prospect of finding
himself in the water and swimming, overwhelmed by igno-
rance and darkness, probably in a circle, till he sank from
exhaustion, was revolting. The barren and cruel futility of
such an end intimidated his affectation of careless pessi-

1 Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard