“When?”
The Carib shrugged his shoulders. “Who can tell?”
“From now on,” said Pant slowly, “our men will be divided into two companies; those who work and those who watch, ready to fight.”
“That will be wise,” said the Carib.
At that they blew out the candle and went to sleep.
Next evening the Spanish girl’s dugout was again bumping the shore at the mouth of the creek trail. Her father was with her this time. Pant showed them down the trail to a palm-thatched cabin. There, seated around a table of roughly hewn mahogany slabs, they talked of the previous night’s doings.
The deputy, a short, solid looking man, with small, twinkling eyes, assured Pant that he was profoundly grateful for the part he had played in the affair.
“They were Daego’s men,” he went on. “When we had fished the two who went overboard out of the water, we identified them, every one.
“That is not all,” he smiled. “Someone was careless. On a case of ammunition we found the shipping tag assigning it to Daego. So, the case is quite complete.”
“Has Daego been arrested?” asked Pant.