Elsie had slept long and soundly: she found herself in a new world of sunshine and calm. When she looked over the side to examine the crudely fashioned canoe, she was astonished by the limpid purity of the water. She could see white pebbles and vegetation at a vast depth. It seemed to be impossible that a few hours should have worked such a change, but Suarez assured her that the streams which tumbled down the precipitous gorges of the hills ran clear quickly after rain, owing to the sifting of the surface drainage by the phenomenal tree-growth.

“Wherever timber can lodge on the hillsides,” he told her, “fallen trunks lie in layers of fifteen or twenty feet. They rot there, and young saplings push their way through to the light and air, while creepers bind them in an impenetrable mass; in many places small trees and shrubs of dense foliage take root amidst the decaying stumps beneath, so that even the Indians cannot pass from one point to another, but are compelled to climb the rocky watercourses or follow the slopes of glaciers. When you see what appears to be a smooth green space above the lower brown-colored belt of copper beech, that is not a moss-covered stretch of open land, but the closely packed tops of young trees, where a new tract has been bared by an avalanche.”

She was in no mood this morning to assimilate the marvels of Hanover Island. Her brain had been cleared, restored to the normal, by refreshing sleep. With a more active perception of the curious difficulties which beset the Kansas came a feeling akin to despair. The brightness of nature served rather to convert the ship into a prison. Storm and stress, whether of the elements or of the less candid foes who lurked unseen on the neighboring shores, made the Kansas a veritable fortress, a steel refuge seemingly impregnable. But the knowledge of the vessel’s helplessness, and of the equally desperate hazard which beset her inmates, was rendered only more poignant by the smiling aspect of land and sea.

Elsie was not a philosopher. She was just a healthy, clean-minded Englishwoman, imbued with a love of art for art’s sake, a girl whose wholesome, courageous temperament probably unfitted her to achieve distinction in the artistic career which she had mapped out for herself. So the super-Alpine glories surrounding that inland sea, and the prismatic hues flashing from many a glacier and rainbow of cataract mist, left her unmoved, solely because the rough-hewn Indian craft bobbing by the side of the great ship called to mind the extraordinary conditions under which she and all on board existed.

But she was hungry, and that was a saving sign. She guessed that many of the men, after mounting watch until broad daylight, were asleep. Others were at work below, as was testified by a subdued sound of hammering, with the sharp clink of metal against metal. Walker was tinkering at the engines. With him, in all likelihood, were the captain and Tollemache. She and Suarez were the drones of the ship, and Suarez, poor fellow, had earned an idle hour if only on account of the scrubbing he had given himself to wash away the tokens of five years of slavery.

Before going in search of the cook, she walked a few steps towards the bridge. At the top of the companion she saw Joey, sitting disconsolately on his tail, a sure indication that Courtenay was occupied in depths approachable only by steep iron ladders whither the dog could not follow.

She whistled softly to her little friend, knowing that Christobal, and perhaps Mr. Boyle, would be on the bridge, keeping the lookout, and she was not inclined for talk at the moment. The doctor would have understood at once that the girl was below par, owing to the strain of the preceding days, and the lethargic rest which exhaustion had imposed on her. Yet, there are times when science does not satisfy. . . .

But Joey, who recked naught of philosophy, and to whom the alarms and excursions of fights on deck came as a touch of mother earth to the sole of Antaeos—Joey, then, sprang down the stairs, barking joyously, and leaped into her outstretched arms.

He honored no other person on board, except his master, with such extravagant friendship, and, as the girl carried him aft to the cook’s galley, she asked herself why the dog had taken such a liking to her.

She blushed a little as she thought:

“It may be that I resemble the lady whom Captain Courtenay is going to marry. I wonder why he did not show us her photograph that day when Isobel and I visited his cabin and looked at the pictures of his mother and sister. I should like to see her, but how can I manage it? I simply dare not tell him I read that scrap of a letter, even by chance.”

The dog, apparently, found her an excellent substitute; he licked her ear contentedly. That tickled her, and she laughed.

“I fear you are a fickle lover, Joey,” she said aloud. “But you will simply be compelled to remain constant to me while we are in this horrid place, and that may be for the remainder of our lives, dear.”

Joey tried to lick her again to show that he didn’t care. What could any reasonable dog want more than fine weather, enough to eat, and the prospect of an occasional scrimmage?

When Elsie did ultimately climb to the chart-house, the fit of despondency had fled. Boyle was there, having been carried up in a deck chair early in the day. He was alone.

“Huh!” he growled pleasantly. “You’re lookin’ as bright as a new pin, Miss Maxwell. Now, if I had been among the pirates, I’d have taken you with me.”

“Do you mean to say that you are actually paying me compliments?” said she.

“Am I? Huh; didn’t mean to. I’m an old married man. But pirates, especially Spanish ones, are supposed to be very handy with knives and other fellows’ girls.”

“You see they did not consider me a prize.”

“The rascals! Good job you missed that boat. Christobal has been tellin’ me all about it. They’ve gone under.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Can’t see any chance for them, Miss Maxwell.”

“But we are almost as badly situated here?”

“Huh, not a bit of it. Lucky chap, Courtenay. He couldn’t lose a ship if he tried. She’d follow him ’cross country like that pup. Look at me: lost three, all brand new from the builders. One foundered, one burnt, an’ one stuck on the Goodwins. I’m careful, steady as any man can be, but no owner would trust me with a ship now, unless she was a back number, an’ over-insured. Even then my luck would follow me. I’d bring that sort of crazy old tub through the Northwest passage. So I’m first mate, an’ first mate I’ll remain till my ticket gives out.”

A good deal of this was Greek to Elsie. But she knew that Boyle was a man of curt speech, unless deck hands required the stimulus of a tongue lashing. Such a string of connected sentences was a rare occurrence. It argued that the “chief” was not unwilling to indulge in reminiscence.

“Why do you consider Captain Courtenay so fortunate?” she asked, flushing somewhat at the guile which lay behind the question.

“Huh,” snorted Boyle, amazed that even a slip of a girl should need informing on so obvious a fact. “Don’t you call it luck to be given command of a ship like the Kansas at his age? An’ to get five hundred pounds an’ a gold chronometer because the skipper of the Florida was too full to hold on to the bridge? You mark my words. He’ll be made commodore of the fleet after he pulls the Kansas out of this mess.”

“What happened to the Florida?”

“Haven’t you heard that yarn? Bless my soul, she was our crack ship. She broke her shaft in a gale, an’ the skipper was washed overboard—you always tell lies about deaders, you know—so A. C. just waded in an’ saved the whole outfit, passengers an’ all.”

“But he has had reverses, too. He was in the Royal Navy, I have been told, and he had to give it up because his people—”

“More luck. The Royal Navy! Huh, all gold braid, an’ buy your own vittals. There’s no money in that game.”

“Money is not everything in the world. A man’s career may be more to him than the mere monetary aspect of it.”

“If ever you meet my missus, you’ll hear the other side of the question, Miss Maxwell. S’posin’ Courtenay was in the Navy, an’ had a wife an’ family to keep. Could he do it on his pay? Not he. As it is, he’s sure to marry a girl with a pile, and wind up a managing owner.”

“Perhaps he is engaged to some such young lady already?”

“Haven’t heard so. You may be sure there’s one waitin’ for him somewhere. I know. There’s no dodgin’ luck, good or bad. I thought it was goin’ to be that friend of yours, but she’s off the register, poor lass. There! I didn’t mean that. I’m an idiot, for sure. You see, I don’t talk much as a rule, Miss Maxwell, or I should know better than to chin-wag like a blazin’—huh, like a babblin’ fool.”

Elsie turned her face aside when he mentioned Isobel. It seemed to her sensitive soul an almost unfair thing that she should be gossiping about trivialities when the girl who had commenced this unlucky voyage in such high spirits was lying beneath that grim sea behind the smiling headland. Yet she knew that Boyle meant no harm by his chatter. He was weak from his wound, and perhaps a trifle light-headed as the result of being brought from the stuffy saloon to the airy and sunlit chart-room. So she crushed a sorrow that was unavailing, and strove to put the sailor at his ease again.

“I do not find any harm in your remark,” she said resolutely. “Were it possible, I should have been very pleased to see Miss Baring married to a man of strong character like Captain Courtenay. By the way, who is keeping watch on deck?”

“The doctor was here with me until a few minutes ago. Then the skipper telephoned him. I guess there is some one on the lookout, but you might just cast an eye shorewards. I’m not supposed to move yet.”

He wriggled uneasily in his chair, for the spirit was willing; but Elsie made him lie quiet; she rearranged his pillow, and stepped on to the bridge. By walking from port to starboard, and traversing the short length of the spar deck, she could command a view of the bay and of most parts of the ship. She heard the dog scuttling down the companion; on reaching the after-rail, she saw the captain engaged in earnest, low-toned conversation with Tollemache and Walker. They were standing on the main deck near the engine-room door, and examining something which resembled a lump of coal; she saw the engineer take three similar lumps from a pocket.

Christobal appeared, carrying a bucket of water, into which the lumps were placed by Walker, who handled them very gingerly. After a slight delay, he began to crumble one in his fingers, still keeping it in the water, until finally he drew forth what Elsie recognized at once as a stick of dynamite. Though it was blackened by contact with the coal, she was certain of its real nature. She had visited a great many mines, and the officials always scared the ladies of the party by telling them what would happen if the explosives’ shed were to blow up. She had even seen dynamite placed in the sun to dry, as it is very susceptible to moisture, and she wondered, naturally enough, why such a dangerous agent should be hidden in, or disguised as, a piece of coal.

She thought that the men should be made aware of her presence, so she leaned over and said:

“May I ask what you four are plotting?”

They looked at her in surprise. They were so engrossed in their discovery that they had eyes for nothing else. Walker straightway plunged the sausage-shaped gray stick into the water again.

“What are you doing with that dynamite?” she demanded. “Do you intend to visit the Valley of the Golden Sands? If so, please take me. I am very poor.”

It was Courtenay who answered.

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“Mr. Boyle is in the chart-house.”

“I know; but is any one else up there?”

“No.”

“Then we shall join you at once.”

Notwithstanding the serious demeanor of the men, Elsie was far from guessing what had happened. But she was soon enlightened.

“In which bunker was the coal placed which we shipped at Valparaiso?” Courtenay asked Boyle.

“In the forrard cross bunker,” was the instant answer.

“And that was the first coal used in the furnaces?”

“Yes, sir.”

The captain’s tone was official, exceedingly so, and the chief officer took the cue from his superior in rank.

“Did we get up steam with it?”

“There might have been a hundred-weight or two lying loose in the stoke-hold, but, for all practical purposes, we have used nothing but the Valparaiso bunker since we left port.”

“The rest of our coal was shipped at Coronel?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You hear? It is exactly as I have told you,” said Courtenay, glancing at the others. “I must explain to you, Mr. Boyle, that I wished you to state the facts in front of witnesses before I gave you my reasons for cross-examining you on the matter. Mr. Walker and I have been certain, all along, that the furnaces were blown up wilfully. Now our suspicions are proved. This morning, after a careful scrutiny, we came across a number of lumps of coal cleverly constructed out of small pieces glued together. In the center of each lump was a stick of dynamite, protected by an asbestos wrapper. It was undoubtedly the intent of some miscreant that a number of these lumps should be fed into the furnaces. This actually occurred, as we know, but, by the mercy of Providence, the ship did not experience the full power of the explosion, or she must have sunk like a stone.”

“Huh,” grunted Boyle. “Who holds the insurance?”

“The shippers of the cargo, of course—Messrs. Baring, Thompson & Miguel.”

“Worth a quarter of a million sterling, ain’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Huh, it’s a lot of money.”

There was a momentary silence. Elsie’s eyes grew larger, and she became rather pale. As was her habit when puzzled, she placed a finger on her lips. Christobal noted her action. Indeed, he missed few of her characteristic habits or expressions. He laughed quietly.

“I think you are quite right, Miss Maxwell,” he said. “This is one of the many instances in which silence is golden.”

Taken by surprise, she blushed and dropped her hand. But Courtenay said promptly:

“There are some instances in which silence may be misinterpreted. Let me state at once that the shippers of the valuable cargo on board the Kansas will suffer a serious financial reverse if the ship is lost. Two thousand tons of copper may be worth a considerable fixed sum, but the lack of the metal on the London market at the end of January will have far-reaching consequences in a fight against the bull clique in Paris, and that is why Mr. Baring made this heavy shipment.”

“Those consequences could be foreseen and discounted,” put in Tollemache, dryly.

“Exactly. But by whom? By the man who sent his only daughter as a passenger on this vessel?”

Every one scouted that notion. But Tollemache, though disavowing any thought of Mr. Baring as a party to the scheme, stuck to his guns.

“Somebody will make a pile when the Kansas is reported missing,” he said.

“The insurance money would not be paid for a long time,” Courtenay explained.

“No, but the copper market will respond instantly.”

“Then the process has commenced already. The Kansas should have been reported yesterday from Sandy Point. The news that she has not arrived will soon reach the nearest cable station. There will be terrific excitement at Lloyd’s when that becomes known.”

“It is distinctly odd that Suarez should turn up last night, and tell us how gold slipped through his fingers five years ago. Let us hope the parallel will hold good for the gentleman who so amiably endeavored to send the Kansas to the bottom of the Pacific,” said Christobal.

“It is rather a rotten trick,” broke in Tollemache, “just a bit of Spanish roguery— Well, I’m sorry, Christobal, but I can’t regard you as quite a Spaniard, you see.”

“Nevertheless, I am one,” and the doctor stiffened visibly.

“What Tollemache means is that he would expect you to take the English and straightforward view of a piece of rascality, doctor.” Then Courtenay paused in his turn. “By the way,” he continued, with the frowning dubiety of one whose thoughts outstrip his words, “does any one here know a man named Ventana?”

“It is a name common enough in Chile,” said Christobal.

“If you mean SeÑor Pedro Ventana, who is associated with Mr. Baring in mining matters, I am acquainted with him,” said Elsie. The men seemed to have forgotten her presence. They were wrapped up in the remarkable discovery which Courtenay himself had made by diligent search among the coal ready for use in the furnaces when the explosion took place.

For no reason in particular, save the unexpectedness of it, Elsie’s statement was received with surprise. They all looked at her, and some of them wondered, perhaps, why her smiling eyes had lost their mirth. Yet there was nothing unreasonable in the mere fact that a certain Chilean named Ventana, who had business relations with Mr. Baring, should make the acquaintance of Isobel Baring’s friend. As quickly as it had arisen, the feeling of strangeness passed.

Courtenay even laughed. Elsie as the Jonah of the ship was a quaint conceit.

“I mentioned Ventana because I was told he took some part of the insurance on his own account,” he explained. “But he was a member of Baring’s copper syndicate, and, indeed, was spoken of as a mining engineer of high repute. Believe me, I was not jumping to conclusions on that account.”

“I know him to be a very bad man,” said Elsie, slowly. Her face was white and her eyes downcast. It was evident that the sudden introduction of Ventana’s personality was distressing to her, but Courtenay, preoccupied with the dastardly attempt made to sink his ship, did not observe this feature of a peculiar discussion.

“Bad! In what sense, Miss Maxwell?” he asked unguardedly.

“In the most loathsome sense. He is evil-minded, vicious, altogether detestable. If Mr. Baring knew his character as I know it, Ventana would not be allowed to enter his office.”

“Pedro Ventana?” interrupted Christobal. “Is he a half-caste, a tall, brown-skinned man, who affects an American drawl when he speaks English—a man prominent in Santiago society and in mining circles generally?”

“Yes,” said Elsie.

“That is odd, exceedingly so. I once heard a rumor—but perhaps it is unfair to mention it in this connection. Yet it cannot hurt any one if I state that Isobel Baring and he were—well—how shall I put it?—at any rate, there was a lively summer-hotel sort of attachment between them.”

“Isobel has never told me that,” said Elsie, nerving herself for a personal disclosure which was obviously disagreeable. “I own a small ranch near Quillota, and, as there was a chance of copper being located there, Mr. Baring advised me to employ Ventana as an expert prospector. Indeed, Mr. Baring himself sent Ventana to examine the property and report on it. He came to see me. He told me there were no minerals of value on my land, but I could never free myself from him afterwards. Indeed, I am running away from him now.”

She uttered the concluding words with a genuine indignation which forthwith evaporated in its unconscious humor. Everybody laughed, even the girl herself, and Boyle grunted:

“Huh, shows the beggar’s good taste, anyhow.”

Courtenay, perhaps, thought that if he encountered Ventana again he would take the opportunity to reason with him in the approved manner of the high seas. And, as there was no need to prolong a topic which caused Elsie any sort of embarrassment, he hastened to say:

“I have brought names into the discussion largely to show what a doubtful field is opened once we begin to suspect without real cause. The only witness of any value we have on board is Frascuelo, and his evidence merely goes to prove a secret design to interfere with, or control, the trimming of the bunker. That particular hatch must be sealed, and the specimens we have secured put away under lock and key. I feel assured that the remainder of our coal is above suspicion. We can carry the inquiry no further while we remain here. Now, Mr. Walker, you have something of a more cheering nature to communicate, I think.”

The engineer grinned genially.

“I don’t wish to bind myself to a day or so, Miss Maxwell and gentlemen,” he said, “but I’ve had a good look at the damage, an’ I feel pwitty shu-aw I’ll get up steam in one boil-aw within ten days or a fawt-night. It’ll be a makeshift job at the best, because I have so few spa-aw fittin’s, an’ no chance of makin’ a castin’, but I’ll bet a ye’aw’s scwew the Kansas gets a move on her undaw her own steam soon aftaw New Ye-aw’s Day.”

New Year’s Day! What a lump in the throat the words brought. In three days it would be Christmas, in seven more the New Year! Though, from the beginning of the voyage, they were prepared to pass both festivals at sea, there was all the difference in the world between a steady progress towards home and friends and the present plight of the Kansas. Death, too, had thrown its shadow over them. Some there were to whom the passing of the years would mean no more in this world. Others, the great majority of the ship’s company, were probably hidden by the same eternal silence; the last sight they had of them was a dim vision of boats rushing into a chaos of angry seas and sheeted spray.

But Courtenay would have none of these mournful memories. He had solved the mystery of the ship’s breakdown, and an expert mechanical engineer had just pledged his reputation to restore wings to the Kansas—somewhat clipped wings, it is true, but sufficient, given fair weather and reasonable good fortune, to bring her to a civilized settlement in the Straits. Why, then, should they yield to gloom?

“Isn’t that glorious news?” he cried. “Now, Christobal, that motor trip in June through the Pyrenees looks feasible once more. And you, Miss Maxwell, though you have never quailed for an instant, can hope to be in England in the spring. As for you, Tollemache, surely you will say that our prospects are ‘fair,’ at the least.”

“I would say more than that if it were not for these poisonous Indians,” replied Tollemache. “Here they come now, a whole canoe load of ’em. I have never seen such rotters.”

And, indeed, Francisco Suarez, detailed to keep watch and ward over the ship until noon, ran up the companion and cried excitedly:

“Four head men have just put off from Otter Creek. They have missed me, I expect. They will want me to go back. I beseech you, seÑor captain, not to give me up to them, but rather to send a bullet through my miserable heart.”

“Tell him to calm himself,” said Courtenay, coolly, when Christobal had translated this flow of guttural Spanish. “He has no cause to fear them now; let him nerve himself, and show a bold front. A palaver is the best thing that can happen. We must display all the arms we possess. Bid any of your invalids who can stand upright show themselves, Christobal. We must lift you outside, Boyle. Bring your camera, Miss Maxwell. If we could give these fellows a good picture of themselves it would scare them to death.”

The captain of the Kansas was not to be repressed that day. He refused to look at the dark side of things. He even found cause for congratulation in the threatened visit of cannibals whom Suarez feared so greatly that he preferred death to the chance of returning to them, although they had spared his life.

And Courtenay infected them all with his splendid optimism. It was with curiosity rather than dread that they watched the rapid approach of the canoe and its almost naked occupants.