Misty of Chincoteague [antikvár]

LIVE CARGO! Av^ild, ringing neigh shrilled up from the hold of the Spanish galleon. It w^as not the cry of an animal in hunger. It was a terrifying bugle. An alarm call. The captain of the Santo Crista strode the poop deck. "Cursed be that stallion!" he muttered under his breath as he stamped forward and back, forward and back. Suddenly he stopped short. The wind! It was dying with the sun. It was spilling out of the sails, causing them to quiver and shake. He could feel his flesh creep with the sails. Without wind he could not get to Panama. And if he did not get there, and get there soon, he was headed for trouble. The Moor ponies to be delivered to the Viceroy of Peru could not be kept alive much longer. Their hay had grown musty. The water casks were almost empty. And