"Carl's talking sense, fellows," said Matt. "Those Japs are against us. We thought we had left them behind, and that we should be able to reach San Francisco before they could make us any trouble, but here they are, going for us harder than ever."
"They're not using that steamer of theirs, mates," averred Dick.
"The steamer might have torpedo tubes," answered Glennie.
"Ay, so she might; but she couldn't lie along within seventy-five feet of us without making noise enough to wake the dead. The Sons of the Rising Sun have changed boats—and how have they had time to do that, and reach this part of the coast almost at the same time as ourselves? We've plugged right along ever since leaving the strait."
"That gives me an idea," said the ensign, "and you fellows can take it for what it's worth. Our knowledge of the Sons of the Rising Sun is a trifle hazy, but we know them to be a secret organization whose aim is to help Japan. The organization is not sanctioned by the Japanese government, for its members commit deeds which would plunge the nation into war if it sanctioned them. Now, this secret society is probably quite extensive. Perhaps we are not dealing with the branch of it that kept us busy most of the way to the Horn, but with another outfit of the Sons of the Rising Sun that has been laying for us here."
"That's possible," agreed Matt. "The question is, shall we put into Lota and try to find out something more regarding our enemies, or keep on to Valparaiso, as we had originally intended?"
"I'm for putting in at Lota," said Dick. "We can't tow that infernal Whitehead all the way to Valparaiso."
"It will be just as well to stop there, in my opinion," seconded Glennie. "If we're dealing with another branch of the Sons of the Rising Sun, perhaps we can get some information about them in Lota."
"Meppy," ventured Carl, "ve could lay in a sooply oof gasoline in Lota, und vouldn't haf to shdop at Valparaiso, huh? Dot vould safe dime, und I am gedding hungry for a look at der Unidet Shtates again. Der more I see of odder gountries, der more vat I like my own."
"His own!" laughed Dick, who, now that Motor Matt had been safely recovered, was feeling in fine fettle. "You could tell he was a Yank, just by the way he talks, eh?"