“That’s business,” cried Chase, thrusting the note into his pocket, and bustling about in such a state of excitement that he scarcely knew what to do first. “We’ll see fun now. Close those hatches, and we’ll be off. I only hope I shall get a chance to do something for Fred Craven. I want to show him that I don’t forget favors.”
“Must we leave the Banner to take care of herself?” asked Wilson.
“What else can we do? We can’t very well put her into our pockets and take her with us.”
“But what if something should happen to her? Suppose the deserters should return and run off with her?”
“That’s Walter’s lookout, and not ours,” replied Chase, locking the door of the cabin, and putting the key into his pocket. “I wonder if this fellow can tell us where the captain is, and what he is doing? Can you speak English?” he added, addressing the negro.
The man stared at him, but made no answer.
“Can you talk French?” continued Chase, speaking in that language.
The negro grinned, but said nothing.
“Well, we can’t talk Spanish, so we must wait until we see Walter, before we can find out what has been going on,” said Wilson. “But it seems strange that he should ask us to come to him and leave the vessel with no one to watch her, doesn’t it?”
“Under ordinary circumstances it would,” answered Chase, springing upon the deck of the brig, and hurrying toward the wharf. “But Walter is working for Fred Craven, you know, and he would rather lose a dozen yachts, if he had them, than to allow a hair of his head to be harmed.”