"Not in ze smoke, not zat, non. Whistler tell me."
Yamousa's knowledge, which, for the most part, seemed to be derived from unusual sources, filled Matt and Dick with growing bewilderment.
"Sink me," muttered Dick, "but my nerves are beginning to bother me. Go on, though, matey. What about Whistler?"
"Why, he's still after the iron chest, he and Jurgens. They got away from that turtle back in the Bahamas, landed in this vicinity, and Whistler came here to get this voodoo priestess to tell him where he could locate the chest."
"All my eye and Betty Martin, that! Just as though Yamousa could tell him!"
"Anyhow, Whistler must have thought so or he wouldn't be here. We saw and heard enough to convince us that what Yamousa said about his designs was true. We got here in time to drive him off and——"
Just there occurred a startling interruption. A frantic yell came from the clearing—a yell that was plainly given by Carl.
"More trouble!" boomed Dick, leaping from the bench, "and it's Carl that's flying distress signals now."
Matt did not reply, but he led the way to the door and through it into the dying glow of the fire on the bayou bank.