“He has no way of getting cannon this side of Atlamalco, and that would take a day or two; he has no wish to destroy his own property, and, if he had such a wish, he couldn’t do it, for only by accident would he hit the boat.”
“That squelches my theory, which I didn’t believe in myself. I’ll have another talk with the Captain, though his sense of honor isn’t likely to allow him to say much.”
It was beyond midnight and the two were conversing in a friendly way, but without anything important being said, when they looked in each other’s face with a pleased expression. A welcome fact had become known to both at the same moment.
“The boat is moving,” whispered the American.
With the screw motionless, she had been lifted clear by the tide and now swung clear. The Captain drew out his watch and held it so the moonlight lit up the face.
“There is no reaching Zalapata until toward noon, provided we get there with this gunboat, Major.”
The significant intonation and smile which accompanied these words puzzled the American, who would have given much to have had them explained. But it was useless to question the Captain and the only comfort was in the thought that he was an honorable foe.
“Now for Zalapata!” he added.
“I assume, Captain, that you are familiar with all the windings and dangers of the river.”