“That’s the ticket for soup,” the boys heard a well-known voice cry out, as their enemy measured his length; “and if you want any more, my fine rooster, we’ve got it on tap.”
“Ben Stubbs!” they cried out gleefully.
“Yes, and not forgetting one Billy Barnes of New York;” joyously shouted the young reporter, racing up to them, covered with dust, but yelling like a Comanche, “as soon as you’ve got that hardware off you we’ll have a talk-fest—I want to interview you, for the Planet.”
“What on earth has happened?” gasped the boys who only a few seconds before had made up their minds to die—and were still dazed at the amazing turn events had taken—
“Happened?” shouted Stubbs. “Well, shipmates, in a way of speaking about forty things has happened at once,—like they does in a four-ring circus. You twist yer head off looking fer ’em. In the first place me and Billy stole two mules, got up to La Merced right after I wrote that letter and told the folks of your plight,—and, here they come right now with the American consul.”
He pointed to the barrack gate where, pushing through the demoralized crowd of scared soldiers, came the well-known figure of Mr. Chester, followed by the stalwart Blakely, and Mr. Olivares the American Consul.
“Yes, but that shell,” demanded the boys, “which saved our lives.”
“Oh, that was our friend on the revolutionary gunboat at a little target practice I imagine,” grinned Billy Barnes. “I see it touched the spot,” he went on gazing about at the havoc and confusion.
And then further explanations were interrupted for a time while the boys and their father embraced and exchanged such greetings as may be imagined. It had been an anxious time for Mr. Chester and his lined face showed it.
“But thank heaven, it’s all over now, boys,” he exclaimed, “the United States has taken a hand in the mess.”