It was in New Orleans that she had called to see Bob Steele and had told him many things which were not true. Because of this misinformation, Bob Steele had been lured into the hands of Captain Jim Sixty, the filibuster. The girl who had been instrumental in carrying out this plot was Ysabel Sixty, Captain Sixty’s daughter.
The boys were amazed to see her there in that rebel-haunted wilderness, but they repressed their excitement and curiosity until the girl had led them unerringly to a little cleared space in the heart of the woods.
Here there was a rude shelter constructed of a ragged tarpaulin, and an olla, or earthen water jar, suspended from the branches of a tree.
The girl turned and faced the boys as soon as they reached this primitive camp.
“You are safe, for the present,” said she. “I am glad I could do something to help you.”
“Well, what next?” growled Dick, his keen eyes on the girl’s face. “Are you helping us, Ysabel Sixty, or luring us into another trap, as you did up in New Orleans?”
A look of sadness and contrition swept over the girl’s face. It was a pretty face—not so pretty as it had been in New Orleans, for now it was worn and haggard—and that ripple of sorrow touched it softly.
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“I have paid for all that,” said the girl slowly. “I have paid for it with more bitter regrets than I can tell. Now, maybe, I can help to undo the wrong. What I did in New Orleans I did not do willingly. My father threatened to kill me if I failed to carry out his wishes. Now he is in the hands of the law, you are free, and I am adrift in this wild country.”
There was something in the girl’s voice that touched both Bob and Dick. It could not be that she was again playing a part, for there was that in her words and manner which told of sincerity.
“How do you happen to be here?” asked Bob.
“My father, as I suppose you have heard, left the steamer Santa Maria to go on the schooner North Star and hunt for his water-logged brig. I continued on to Belize on the Santa Maria, with orders from my father to take the first boat from Belize to Port Livingstone, at the mouth of the Izaral. There I was met by some of General Pitou’s soldiers, and brought out to this camp to wait until my father, or my uncle, should come. My father did not come, and will not. My uncle has already arrived, and to avoid him I have come away by myself, into this part of the woods.”
“Who is your uncle, Ysabel?” asked Bob.
“Abner Fingal.”
“Fingal!” exclaimed both the boys.
“His real name is Sixty,” explained the girl, “and he is my father’s brother. He is captain of the schooner that has been helping the revolutionists, and he has sworn vengeance on all those who had anything to do with my father’s capture.”
“That means us,” said Dick, as he turned for an apprehensive look through the timber in the direction of the path. “I never dreamed of anything like that,” he added.
“It’s not generally known,” said the girl, “that Cap64tain Fingal and Captain Sixty are in any way related. They have both been helping the revolutionists, and, if the uprising was a success, they were to be rewarded.”
“You ran away from the rebel camp in order to avoid Fingal?”
“Yes.”
“Why was that?”
A flush ran through the girl’s haggard face.
“My uncle wants me to marry General Pitou, a Frenchman who is in command of the revolutionists. When I marry”—the words came spitefully and with a stamp of the foot—“I shall marry to please myself, and not some one else.”
“Good for you!” approved Dick. “Don’t let ’em bullyrag you into marrying a Frenchman, anyhow.”
“I heard that my uncle was expected to reach the camp soon,” went on the girl, “and I ran away last night. Pedro, a Mexican who used to be a sailor on my father’s brig, helped me to get away. He fixed that little tent for me, and this morning, when he brought me breakfast, he told me some news.”
“What was that?” inquired Bob, scenting something of importance.
“Why, Pedro said that my uncle, together with another man named Cassidy, had come over from Port Livingstone on a little gasoline boat which they had stolen from the customhouse officer in the town. They brought information that a boat that travels under water was coming to release the American prisoner. Of course”—now the girl smiled a little—“I knew who it was that was coming in that under-water boat, so I made Pedro tell me everything he knew.
“He said the boat was coming from Belize, and that the American consul to British Honduras might come with it. He told me that Fingal informed the general65 that it would be possible to entrap the other consul, and that this would give the rebels two valuable prisoners to hold until the American government would exchange Captain Sixty for them. The plan was to capture the under-water boat and all on board. Fingal and this man Cassidy were to have the boat, and Fingal was to be allowed to do whatever he pleased with all the prisoners except the consul.”
“We know what that meant,” said Dick, making a wry face. “He wanted to make us walk the plank for the part we played in the capture of Jim Sixty.”
“Pedro said,” went on Ysabel, “that General Pitou doubled the guards all around the camp so that those who came to rescue Coleman would not only fail, but would be captured themselves.”
“The plan must have worked out pretty well,” observed Bob. “Did Pedro tell you whether any of the rescuers had been captured?”
“He came very early this morning,” answered Ysabel, “before the general’s plans had been carried out.”
“Mr. Coleman is with the insurgents?” asked Bob.
“He has been with them for a long time.”
“Is he well treated?”
“As well as he can be. The rebels are half starved, but Mr. Coleman shares their rations with them.”
“Where is he kept?”
“In a tent in the middle of the encampment. He is constantly under guard, but, while I was in the camp, I was able to talk with him. We were the only ones who could speak English, and the soldiers were not able to understand us. I told Mr. Coleman that I was going to run away, and he said it was the best thing I could do. He asked me, before I left, to take a letter from him to the custom officer at Port Livingstone. But he wasn’t able to write the letter before Pedro helped me get away.”
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Here was great news, but not wholly satisfactory. The captured consul was alive and well cared for; but he was also well guarded in the heart of the insurgents’ camp.
“That puts me in a blue funk,” muttered Dick. “I wouldn’t give a cent for our chances of doing anything for Coleman. If we get away from here ourselves, we’ll be doing well. And then, too, what’s become of Jordan, Speake, and Tirzal? I hate to make a guess, for it puzzles me.”
Bob was also very much alarmed on account of their missing companions; in some way, however, he hoped through Ysabel Sixty to be able to accomplish something—if not for Coleman, then at least for Jordan and the two with him.
“How did you happen to be so close by, Ysabel,” queried Bob, “when Dick and I were so sorely in need of help?”
“Pedro said that you would probably make a landing in the Purgatoire, which is a branch of the Izaral, and that the general was watching closely the path that led from the branch to the encampment. I heard a number of rifle shots, and that led me to hurry toward the path. I got there just in time to see you. I am sorry for what I was compelled to do in New Orleans, and if I can help you any now, I wish you would let me.”
“You have already been a lot of help to us,” said Bob. “Whether you can help us any more or not remains to be seen. Perhaps, Ysabel, we may be able to help you a little.”
“How?” she returned, leveling her lustrous black eyes upon him.
“You can’t remain here, in this poor camp, indefinitely,” went on Bob. “Pedro is taking a good many chances, I should think, coming here to smuggle food67 to you. What would happen if General Pitou should catch Pedro? In that case you would be left without any one to look after you.”
“I know that,” answered the girl, drawing a long face, “but anything is better than being compelled to marry the general. I won’t do that!” Again she stamped her foot angrily.
“What are your plans?” asked Bob.
“Pedro is going to try and get a pitpan for me and send me down to Port Livingstone. He says there is a pitpan on the Purgatoire, and that, just as soon as the hour is favorable, he will start me for the town.”
“That pitpan has been stove in and destroyed,” said Bob, “so you can’t count on that. Why not go down the river with us, in the Grampus? Have you friends in Port Livingstone?”
“No,” replied the girl, a flash of pleasure crossing her face at Bob’s suggestion that she go away in the submarine, “but I have good friends in Belize—my mother’s people. They will take care of me. I should have stayed there instead of coming on to Port Livingstone as my father told me.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Bob definitely; “we’re going to take you with us when we go.”
“When are you going?” asked the girl.
“Just as soon as we can find out what has become of the rest of our party and do something to help them.”
“The rest of your party? Who are they?”
Thereupon Bob began to tell the girl about Jordan, Speake, and Tirzal, how they had come ashore to reconnoiter and had not returned. Barely had he finished when a low whistle, like a signal, floated out of the depths of the wood. Bob and Dick jumped and clutched their revolvers.
“It’s Pedro!” whispered the girl. “You have noth68ing to fear from him, but he mustn’t see you. Hide—over there, behind those bushes—and wait till he goes away.”
Bob and Dick hurried in the direction of the girl’s pointing finger. They had no sooner got safely out of sight than Pedro came running breathlessly into the little clearing.