“Why, that the booty is hidden away securely in caves in some inaccessible place, and that the enemy will do their best to entice us away from the spot,—the plover’s strategy when she sees people entering a field to search for her eggs.”
“Your theory may be quite correct,” remarked the lieutenant, “but my primary object is to arrest these mutineers and have them punished. Doubtless we shall make them confess where the cargo has been stowed away.”
“And meanwhile the insurgents will go and make a clean sweep of the whole concern,” laughed the surgeon. “Of course they are all in the secret.”
“Here come some of the spies,” said Mr. Thompson, knocking the ashes out of his pipe and recharging it. “Now, perhaps, we shall hear some news.”
Two swarthy fellows came running to the spot where we were sitting. They seemed breathless and excited, and their appearance not unnaturally raised our curiosity to the highest pitch.
“Well,” said the lieutenant, “what have you got to say for yourselves?”
“Hab found ’em, sah,” one of the spies gasped out; “dey de oder side ob de jongle, just awaiting to be killed by Englishmans.”
“How many of them?” demanded Mr. Thompson eagerly.
“Two, tree hundred; can’t say exactly, sah. All ob dem are der, but not de horsemen.”
“Are they intrenched?” asked the captain of marines.