As for Daego’s men, they watched the on-coming fleet with consternation. Daego had no men up the river. They knew that. Who, then, were these?
As the fleet came closer, a figure standing in the prow of the foremost boat became plainly visible. He was waving his arms and shouting wildly. It was Johnny.
One of Daego’s keen-eyed Spaniards was the first to recognize him. With a wild cry of fear he dashed for his pit-pan.
“There is the man who has died,” he shouted. “His ghost has been seen many times above the treetops. Now he comes back. He is a ghost. Who are these with him? They have gleaming spears. They, too, are ghosts.” So he thought, and prepared to flee.
So thought they all. To a man they dropped oar, maul, pike, pole or machete, and turned to flee.
When Johnny’s boat bumped the raft there was not a Spaniard within gunshot.
But what was this? As he turned about to look at his companions in the boat he saw only Roderick and Jean. By some skillful trick of boatmanship or swimming, the Maya paddlers had left the boat. Now, some distance away, the Maya princess was waving them farewell as the remaining boats went speeding back up the river.
“That’s funny,” said Johnny.
“How—how strange and ghost-like!” murmured Jean.
“Nothing ghost-like about this,” said Johnny, as he patted his pack which held the rare Maya god.