"Fingal?"
"Aye, matey, Captain Abner Fingal of the schooner North Star, the hooting, tooting old revolutionist, and brother of Captain Jim Sixty, who's now, I hope and believe, doing time in a United States' federal prison."
"Fingal," observed Motor Matt, "is a tough old proposition to dream about."
"I won't forget in a hurry how he crossed our hawse, down there on the River Izaral, or how you came up under our gasoline launch with the good old Grampus, tipped over the launch, and released the prisoners and pulled them out of the drink. Fingal and one of the rebel soldiers got away from us by the skin of their teeth. Do you remember how, when Fingal reached the bank, he got up on his knees and shook his fist after us?"[A]
[A] See No. 16 of the Motor Stories, "Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters."
"I'll not forget that in a hurry," said Matt. "If Fingal could have had us in his hands then we'd have experienced a little more trouble than we could have taken care of. But what's the dream?"
"Well, I thought I was adrift in a big forest, with Fingal and a lot of revolutionists hustling after me, full and by and forty knots, all with machetes. General Pitou, the French leader of the revolutionists, was with Fingal, and the whole pack of them had machetes in each hand and another between their teeth. Finally they caught me, and I was hacked in pieces——"
"Mighty pleasant, that!" grinned Matt.
"They hung my head up in a tree," proceeded Dick grewsomely, "and when I saw the rest of me scattered over the ground underneath, my nerves went to pieces and I fetched a yell that ought to have raised the roof. Strike me lucky, but I was in a sweat! We're not done with Abner Fingal, mate. He'll foul our course before we're many days older."
"I don't take any stock in dreams. They always come from a fellow's stomach—something he eats that disagrees with him. As for Fingal, you can bet he'll not come to Belize. He'd like to play even with us, all right, but he has got sense enough not to run his head into a noose."