Pressing her father's hand warningly, the girl fixed her dark, dreamy eyes on the officer and spoke.
“Yes, that true. My brother he ran away long time before boat come up. Some one been tell him that 'Merican man-o'-war anchor down at south end. So he run away.”
The officer, with an exclamation of disgust, put his pistol back in his belt.
“That lying scoundrel of a native has just fooled us nicely, Williams. Sound a call for Adams and his men to come back, and let us get back to the cutter. We'll have to begin the search again to-morrow.”
The boatswain's mate had just stepped outside and placed his whistle to his lips, when the thundering report of a heavy musket-shot echoed through the air. Then silence for a few seconds, followed by the sharper sounds of the rifles of the American bluejackets.
Before any one could stay her Ema Swain darted through the guard of blue-jackets at the door, and disappeared in the direction of the sound of firing; and almost immediately afterwards the officer and his party followed.
But ere Lieutenant Fenton and his men had advanced more than a hundred yards or so into the gloomy shadows of the palm-grove, he called a halt, as the sound of voices came through the gloom.
“Is that you, Adams?” he called.
“Yes, sir,” answered a voice from a little distance; “we've got him; he ran right into us; but before we could catch him he shot the native guide through the body.”
In a few minutes Adams's party joined that of the officer, and then in silence, with their prisoner in their midst, they marched back to the trader's house.