"At the General's own hacienda, Las Piedras, fifty miles up-country."
"In any danger?"
"Not now. He was going to shoot them to-morrow--to-day, I should say. But nobody will touch them while we have the General in our hands. We've smashed this revolution, Ruggles."
"Don't hallo till we're out of the wood, as the Chief would say. They'll come after us in the morning."
"We'll be out of their reach. We can go faster as soon as we reach the tributary--but not too fast, for goodness' sake: we don't want to strike a snag. At ten miles an hour we shall be at the junction by the time it's light, and then we shall have a straight run to Bolivar."
"But suppose they run to the junction by train and get there before us?"
"I hadn't thought of that. What a fool I am! That would be the end of us. We shall have to go pretty fast after all. Not yet; this stream's dangerous. It's lucky we haven't far to go before we get to the tributary."
"Look out!" cried Ruggles. "I've just got a whack in the eye from a branch."
His warning came too late. The yacht stopped with a jerk as its mast came into contact with an overhanging mass of foliage. The light pole snapped and fell into the bottom; at the same time the painter broke.
"It doesn't matter, luckily," said Will. "We can drift down-stream. When it begins to get light we'll all board the hydroplane, though it will be a tight fit. Have you got a match?"