The voice of Lieutenant Timmons held a tone of deep interest as he gazed at the three blue-jackets standing bareheaded before him in his cabin. At Ned’s request Stanley and Herc Taylor had been included in the summons aft.
“Absolutely, sir,” came Stanley’s deep voice. “I’d know the butt of a Crag-Allen machine gun a block away, sir, and then the weight of those cases——”
“I think there is little doubt that you have stumbled upon the solution of the problem. The thing is to head them off. Have you any suggestions, Mr. Stark?”
The officer turned to the young midshipman, the same whom Ned had saved on the night the man was washed overboard.
“Why, sir, Stanley and his shipmates have acted so cleverly in this that it might be well to hear if they have anything to say,” he rejoined.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Stanley, thus encouraged, “but I think that it’s evident they mean to wait till dark and then take the guns down the coast somewhere.”
“By George! I believe you are right,” burst out Lieutenant Timmons. “Most probably they are destined for the northern army of the revolutionists, which, I hear, is marching down the coast to join the main column. They gave the government troops an almighty licking, I understand, and it is doubtful if the latter can rally in time to join with the defending forces at Boca del Sierras.”
“But if they can, sir?” inquired the midshipman.
“In that case the government troops might be strong enough to defend the place. Otherwise, that is, if a junction between the two bodies cannot be effected, the revolutionists bid fair to sweep all before them. But go on, Stanley. What were you about to suggest?”