“This way,” said Ned, stepping toward the stern.
But Jack paused.
“An attempt was made to ram the Vagrant to-night,” he said, “by a queer, but extremely speedy craft. Do you know anything about her, Ned?”
“Do I know anything about her?”
A quaver of indignation injected itself into Ned’s voice.
“Well, I should say so,” he went on; “that’s the vessel of that scoundrel Herrera, the cousin of the governor of Yucatan, which, as you know, is at present a province of Mexico, but, so far as civilization is concerned, parts of it might as well be in the wilds of Africa.”
Tom had been fidgeting excitedly. The name of Yucatan had called up a swarming crowd of memories of his father, the long missing explorer.
“Had my uncle’s visit to Yucatan anything to do with my father’s disappearance?” he asked.
“Everything,” was the rejoinder, in steadier tones than Ned Bangs had yet assumed. The presence of the self-possessed cousins, and their infectious manner of quiet ability, had braced the unstrung lad up wonderfully.
“It was to rescue your father from——”