"Motor Matt," said the don, "I have a proposition to make to you and your men. You will find it to your interest, I think, to accept it."
"What's the proposition?" asked Matt curtly.
The more Motor Matt studied Don Ramon, the more puzzling the man became. His English was good, and yet he was undeniably of Spanish descent. Somehow Matt was gathering the idea that the don was a native of Central America, and not of Spain; yet Matt knew that this could not be, for he had heard that the Spanish consul at Belize hailed from Barcelona.
"My friend, Fingal," proceeded the don, "appears to think that you and your men owe him something on account of what happened during your former visit to the River Izaral, and——"
"So they do!" growled Fingal, with a savage frown; "they owe me somethin' not only on account o' that, but on account o' my brother, Jim Sixty. If it hadn't been for them, Jim would never have got nabbed by the United States' gov'ment for filibusterin'. I swore I'd git even with 'em for——"
"Forget that for a little, Fingal," interposed the don. "I've reasoned with Fingal," he went on to Matt, "and he has agreed to let bygones be bygones, providing you fall in with our plans."
He paused, his piercing eyes on the young motorist's face.
"I'm waiting to hear what your plans are," said Matt.
"We captured this boat for the revolutionists," continued the don, "and she will be of great help to General Pitou in his work; but, in order to be as efficient as possible, the craft ought to be manned with her regular crew. So——"