“They're all inside,” he whispered and laid finger on lip. “A lad came down at eight o'clock, took Leber's launch an' wint out to the steamer afther thim. They got in half an hour ago, an' divil a sowl the wiser save meself.”
“Thank you, John. Now that I know the coast is clear and the launch ready, I'll go back to the hotel for Miss Ruey.”
“Very well, sor,” Don Juan replied, and crawled back under the warehouse.
Half an hour later the sound of hoofbeats warned him of the approach of Webster and Dolores in a carriage, and he came forth, loaded in the launch such baggage as they had been enabled to bring, and held the gunwale of the boat while his passengers stepped aboard.
While Don Juan cast off the painter, Webster primed the motor and turned it over; with a snort it started, and under Webster's guidance the launch backed swiftly out into the bay, where Don Juan lighted the side-lights and riding-light, and loafed off into the darkness.
About a half a mile off shore Webster throttled down the motor until the launch barely made steerage way. “It would never do to go aboard the steamer _before_ the fracas started ashore,” he explained to Dolores. “That would indicate a guilty knowledge of coming events, and in the event of disaster to the rebel arms it is just possible Senor Sarros might have pull enough, if he hears of our flight six hours in advance of hostilities, to take us off the steamer and ask us to explain. So we'll just cruise slowly around and listen; the attack will come just before dawn; then shortly thereafter we can scurry out to the steamer and be welcomed aboard for the sake of the news we bring.”
She did not answer, and Webster knew her thoughts were out where the arc-lights on the outskirts of Buenaventura met the open country--out where the brother she could scarcely remember and whom, until a month previous, she had believed dead, would shortly muster his not too numerous followers.
In the darkness Webster could hear the click of her beads as she prayed; on the turtle deck forward.
Don Juan Cafetéro sprawled, thinking perchance of his unlovely past and wondering what effect the events shortly to transpire ashore would have on his future. He wished Webster would relent and offer him a drink some time within the next twenty-four hours. In times of excitement like the present a man needs a drop to brace him up.