Unobserved, a dwarfish figure stole noiselessly from the shadow, and seizing upon the nearest bag—it was Jim’s—he ran swiftly down the wharf. Not quickly, however, as to escape the watchfulness of Juarez, who, to make up for the dereliction of the previous evening, was especially alert. With a shout of alarm to the others, Juarez set off at once in pursuit of the flying figure, which had already disappeared around a corner. Jim and Tom followed more leisurely, depending upon Juarez to run down the culprit. Berwick and Jo remained as a guard over the rest of their baggage.
“What happened?” cried Jo.
“That villain, Manuel,” replied Berwick. “He has made off with Jim’s handbag. He seems to be everywhere at once.”
“Juarez will catch him,” said Jo, confidently.
“I hope so,” returned Berwick, “but an eel has nothing on him for slipperyness.”
And so it proved, for the others came straggling back, one by one, without having found any trace of the Mexican or the bag.
“That’s rather an unauspicious beginning to our trip,” commented Berwick. “Did you have anything of importance in your bag, Jim?”
“Nothing but my clothes,” replied Jim, ruefully. “But it’s bad enough having him carry them off right in front of us. That’s another score I have to settle with him.”
“He will be carrying some of us away, if we aren’t careful,” put in Jo.
“Hallo, look there! What in the name of goodness is that coming?” cried Juarez, indicating a strange object which was advancing down the wharf.