“That puts me in a blue funk,” muttered Dick. “I wouldn’t give a cent for our chances of doing anything for Coleman. If we get away from here ourselves, we’ll be doing well. And then, too, what’s become of Jordan, Speake, and Tirzal? I hate to make a guess, for it puzzles me.”
Bob was also very much alarmed on account of their missing companions; in some way, however, he hoped through Ysabel Sixty to be able to accomplish something—if not for Coleman, then at least for Jordan and the two with him.
“How did you happen to be so close by, Ysabel,” queried Bob, “when Dick and I were so sorely in need of help?”
“Pedro said that you would probably make a landing in the Purgatoire, which is a branch of the Izaral, and that the general was watching closely the path that led from the branch to the encampment. I heard a number of rifle shots, and that led me to hurry toward the path. I got there just in time to see you. I am sorry for what I was compelled to do in New Orleans, and if I can help you any now, I wish you would let me.”
“You have already been a lot of help to us,” said Bob. “Whether you can help us any more or not remains to be seen. Perhaps, Ysabel, we may be able to help you a little.”
“How?” she returned, leveling her lustrous black eyes upon him.
“You can’t remain here, in this poor camp, indefinitely,” went on Bob. “Pedro is taking a good many chances, I should think, coming here to smuggle food to you. What would happen if General Pitou should catch Pedro? In that case you would be left without any one to look after you.”
“I know that,” answered the girl, drawing a long face, “but anything is better than being compelled to marry the general. I won’t do that!” Again she stamped her foot angrily.
“What are your plans?” asked Bob.
“Pedro is going to try and get a pitpan for me and send me down to Port Livingstone. He says there is a pitpan on the Purgatoire, and that, just as soon as the hour is favorable, he will start me for the town.”