“Yes—and ‘nothing but the truth!’”
“Well, we searched the bottom where those lines join, and then we rowed over to the two islands, went over them again, and then searched the bottom between them—that’s the ‘lowest part of the islands,’ too,” stated Mr. Coleson.
Neither Nicky, Cliff nor Tom cared much. Their bodies were too sore, too tired from staying in one position, too full of aches, to enable them to give much thought to treasure.
Almost nothing was said as Jim prepared supper, for which the chums were waiting as eagerly as their weary bodies allowed. A low-voiced conference was held between the white men, but it was not until the meal was ended, Cliff lifting his cup with cramped arm and hand, Tom feeling his feet prickle as circulation fed the life fluid to them, Nicky feeling as though he had been trussed up for years, that Senor Ortiga delivered the result of the conference.
“We noticed that the tender you came in was marked from the Senorita,” he stated to Tom. “We rowed down the inner channel a way, wondering how you came to be in it!”
“We found the wreck,” added Mr. Coleson.
“Again my dear brother failed to get ahead of me!” snapped the Spaniard, glowering. “But that is aside from the point, which is that we are through here.”
“Then you’ll take us back to Jamaica with you?” asked Cliff.
Ortiga shook his head.
“You have the tender,” he replied. “We will put some food in it and let you use it to get to wherever you want to go. Do you suppose we want to get mixed up with the American Government for tying up its younger citizens? Not we! But we won’t set you adrift or maroon you. We’ll let you have the tender and some food.”