“There she is!” cried Dick, his eyes on the periscope mirror; “I see her coming!”
Bob also saw the motor launch, breaking into sight against the background of indistinct foliage, far up the stream. The boat was comparatively small, and well loaded. Fingal was in the bow thwarts, with a rifle across his knees; in the stern was Cassidy and a negro soldier, both likewise armed with rifles. Between Fingal and Cassidy and the negro were the prisoners. There were four of them—Jordan, Speake, Tirzal, and a slender, full-bearded man in a battered solar hat. Cassidy was close to the gasoline engine and was evidently looking after it. Fingal, from the bow, was doing the steering.
“They’re all there,” said Bob, in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. “Come here, Ysabel.”
The girl stepped obediently to his side. Bob pointed to one of the prisoners reflected in the mirror.
“Is that Coleman?” he asked.
“Yes,” was the answer.
“You’d better go back and sit down, Ysabel,” said Bob. “Pretty soon we’re going to need all the space we have in this vicinity.”
Bob was easy, almost smiling. A great relief had come to him, for the launch was in sight with four captives and three captors, and now it lay with Bob alone whether his friends and Coleman should be released or not.
“Why don’t you do something?” implored Dick, his hands shaking with excitement.
“I’m waiting for the right time,” was the cool answer.