“Well,” answered Coleman, “Sixty is worth more to the rebels than we are. It’s what a thing’s worth to somebody else, and not what you think it’s worth to you, that counts.”
“The point’s too fine and gets away from me,” went on Jordan. “That’s about all of it, Bob. Poor Tirzal was recognized as a spy, and he would have been shot quick enough if I hadn’t threatened the general with all sorts of things if he carried out his intentions. Out of consideration for me, Pitou agreed to wait until we got to the new camp before shooting Tirzal. That’s the only thing, Bob, that saved the half-breed’s life.”
Bob was beginning to feel the effects of his long period of active duty without sufficient sleep, and he called Cassidy from the torpedo room, left him in charge of the Grampus, and then lay down on the locker and was soon slumbering soundly.
When he was awakened it was by Jordan. It was getting along toward evening, and the Grampus was anchored in her old berth off Belize. A sailboat was alongside to take the passengers ashore.
Jordan, Coleman, Tirzal, Cassidy, and Bob were to go, and, of course, Ysabel. Dick was left to look after the submarine.
Ysabel left Bob and the rest at the landing.
“Shall I see you again, Bob,” she asked, “you and the rest of the boys?”
“I hope so, Ysabel,” answered the youth, “but I also hope we won’t have such rough times when our trails cross again.”
“Have I helped you enough to offset what I did in New Orleans?”
“Don’t mention that—forget about it. The account is more than square.”