Johnny was soon enough to know that this day’s evil was indeed sufficient unto itself. He had not left the wireless room before bad news arrived. The giant Carib, who had come in a motor boat to Porte Zelaya, and who had been with Johnny and Madge in the storm, had been loafing about the dock with his ears open. Those ears had caught snatches of terrible things. He told Madge of all this in his native tongue.
“What is it?” Johnny asked as he saw the look of terror creep into her eyes.
“A plot!” She said the words through white, set lips. “That rascal Diaz, who was discharged from his position as foreman, is plotting to destroy your plans, and you with them.”
“How? How could he?”
“He is stirring up a revolution. He is telling the ignorant half-castes that the white men rule their country, that they have been paid very little for much hard work, and that now they are to be deprived of that work altogether, that you are to bring a ship load of Caribs from Stann Creek to do the work which is rightfully their own.”
“That in part is true,” said Johnny. “I wonder if, after all, I am wrong? Would they do the work if I were to offer it?”
Madge consulted the Carib. He shook his head and waved his hands in wild gestures.
“He says they would not work,” interpreted the girl, “that their blood is hot, that they lust for battle and that they will meet us at the dock with clubs and machetes—a hundred, two hundred, perhaps three hundred strong. They want a fight.”
“Very well.” Johnny’s tone was deep and strong. “They shall have a fight, if fight there must be. We are within our rights.”
He stepped back to the wireless to send one more message. The message which went to Kennedy, ran;