“And you?”
“I shall go aboard with you. I have arranged with Don Juan for him to stay ashore and to come out in Leber's launch with the first reliable news of the conflict. If Ricardo wins the city, he wins the revolution, and you and I will then go ashore—to dine with him in the palace. If he loses the city, he loses the revolution, and we will both do well to remain aboard La Estrellita.”
“And in that event, what will become of my brother?”
“I do not know; I forgot to ask him, but if he survives, I imagine he'll have sense enough to know he's whipped and will retreat on San Bruno, fighting a rear-guard action, embark aboard the steamer that brought his men there, and escape.”
“But he has so few men,” she quavered.
“Two hundred of them are white soldiers of fortune—and you must remember how Walker manhandled Nicaragua with that number of men.”
“I'm worried about Mother Jenks.”
“I have asked Mother Jenks to dine with us at seven-thirty this evening, and have ordered a carriage to call for her. When she comes I'll tell her everything; then, if she wishes to stay ashore, let her. She's been through more than one such fracas and doesn't mind them at all, I dare say.”
And in this Webster was right. Mother Jenks listened in profound silence, nodding her approval, as Webster related to her the story of the advent in the country of Ricardo Ruey and his plans, but without revealing the identity of Andrew Bowers.
At the conclusion of his recital the old publican merely said: “Gor' bli' me!”