Barely had they covered a third the distance when they were surprised to hear a call from the Senorita, and looking in the direction of the sound they discovered her standing alone on board the lugger.
Her captors had disappeared, as they were soon to learn. Having first run under the lea of the lugger, they had aided the Senorita to climb on board, and they themselves keeping the while out of sight of Jim’s party, had rapidly rowed the boat around a point of land and were nowhere to be seen.
That they were to board the Sea Eagle, which was still to be observed dropping down the harbor was doubtless their intent, but why had they surrendered the Senorita? Why taken all the trouble and risk to recapture and put her on board the lugger? It was an enigma for which they were later to find a solution.
Jim and his party lost no time in boarding the lugger. The meeting of father and daughter was affecting, and Jim was covered with confusion by the profuse thanks of the young lady. He beat a hasty retreat to the dinghy, where he was held in conversation for a few minutes by the Senor, then going ashore, he picked up Tom and Jo. He also carried a message to the Senor’s man. His presence in the tree had not proved of service through no fault of his own. He was now ordered to take the horses back to the inn.
On Jim’s return to the lugger he had a further conference with the Senor and told him that in a scouting trip during the afternoon he had run across a party of three, bandits he took them to be, and listening unobserved to their conversation, he had learned of their intention to capture someone.
“Do you know of a Captain Beauchamp?” Jim asked.
“No.”
“May it not be yourself and your daughter that they are after?” Jim asked in conclusion.
The Senor was visibly agitated. “For myself alone I have no fear,” he said, “but, alas, my daughter, and she has already suffered so much.”