The boatswain's mate had just stepped outside and placed his whistle to his lips, when the thundering report of a heavy musket-shot echoed through the air. Then silence for a few seconds, followed by the sharper sounds of the rifles of the American bluejackets.
Before any one could stay her Ema Swain darted through the guard of blue-jackets at the door, and disappeared in the direction of the sound of firing; and almost immediately afterwards the officer and his party followed.
But ere Lieutenant Fenton and his men had advanced more than a hundred yards or so into the gloomy shadows of the palm-grove, he called a halt, as the sound of voices came through the gloom.
"Yes, sir," answered a voice from a little distance; "we've got him; he ran right into us; but before we could catch him he shot the native guide through the body."
In a few minutes Adams's party joined that of the officer, and then in silence, with their prisoner in their midst, they marched back to the trader's house.
"Bring the prisoner inside, Adams," said Lieutenant Fenton, briefly.
With hands handcuffed behind his back and a seaman on each side, Jim Swain was marched inside his father's house. A bullet had ploughed through his left cheek, and he was bleeding profusely.
"Stand aside, old man," and the officer held up a warning hand to old Jack. "It is folly for you to attempt to interfere."
And then a blue-jacket, almost as old as the trader himself, placed himself between father and son.
Taking a paper from his pocket the officer read it to himself, glancing every now and then at the prisoner.
"He's the man, sure enough," he muttered. "Poor devil!" Then turning to the man Adams, he asked--"Are you absolutely certain that this is the man, Adams?"
"Certain, sir. That is the man who murdered the boatswain of the _Saginaw_. I took particular notice of him when I served in her, because of his colour and size, and his sulky temper."
"Jim," broke in the old man's voice, quaveringly, "you haven't murdered any one, hev' you?"
The half-caste raised his dark, lowering face and looked at his father, and for a moment or so he breathed heavily.
"Yes, dad. I killed th' man. We had a muss in Valparaiso, an' I knifed him."
Old Swain covered his face with his hands and sank into a seat, and then Lieutenant Fenton walked over to him and placed a kindly hand on his shoulder. Then he withdrew it quickly.