“Unfortunately, Mr. Kingsborough, the Pathfinder has not yet arrived at Santa Barbara.”
“What; not in a fortnight, running dead to leeward?”
“No.”
“She’s overdue?”
“No, not yet; but making a bad passage.”
“Has she been met with?”
“No. She has not been reported.”
“Is there a single thing in this,” Hilary cried, “which doesn’t go dead, dead against us? I’ll see whether the Dictator of Santa Barbara is as helpless as a bribed bureaucracy.”
He was unjust to Colonel Mackenzie, but then he was young, very fond of Margarita, shaken by his wound, and new to reality of any kind.
Colonel Mackenzie was sorry for him, but sorrier for a very lovely woman in the hands of ruffians.