``Do you think that driver is taking us the right way?'' Langham
asked, after a pause.

``He'd better. He knows it well enough. He was through the last
revolution, and carried messages from Los Bocos to the city on
foot for two months. He has covered every trail on the way, and
if he goes wrong he knows what will happen to him.''

``And Los Bocos--it is a village, isn't it, and the landing must
be in sight of the Custom-house?''

``The village lies some distance back from the shore, and the
only house on the beach is the Custom-house itself; but every one
will be asleep by the time we get there, and it will take us only
a minute to hand her into the launch. If there should be a guard
there, King will have fixed them one way or another by the time
we arrive. Anyhow, there is no need of looking for trouble that
far ahead. There is enough to worry about in between. We
haven't got there yet.''

The moon rose grandly a few minutes later, and flooded the forest
with light so that the open places were as clear as day. It
threw strange shadows across the trail, and turned the rocks
and fallen trees into figures of men crouching or standing
upright with uplifted arms. They were so like to them that Clay
and Langham flung their carbines to their shoulders again and
again, and pointed them at some black object that turned as they
advanced into wood or stone. From the forest they came to little
streams and broad shallow rivers where the rocks in the fording
places churned the water into white masses of foam, and the