``Where do you suppose those men sprang from? Were they
following us all the time?''

``Perhaps, or else that message got over the wire before we cut
it, and they've been lying in wait for us. They were probably
watching King and his sailors for the last hour or so, but they
didn't want him. They wanted her and the money. It was pretty
exciting, wasn't it? How's your shoulder?''

``It's a little stiff, thank you,'' said Langham. He stood up
and by peering over the hood could just see the top of Clay's
sombrero rising above it where he sat on the back seat.

``You and Hope all right up there, Clay?'' he asked.

The top of the sombrero moved slightly, and Langham took it as a
sign that all was well. He dropped back into his seat beside
MacWilliams, and they both breathed a long sigh of relief and
content. Langham's wounded arm was the one nearest
MacWilliams, and the latter parted the torn sleeve and examined
the furrow across the shoulder with unconcealed envy.

``I am afraid it won't leave a scar,'' he said, sympathetically.

``Won't it?'' asked Langham, in some concern.

The horses had dropped into a walk, and the beauty of the moonlit
night put its spell upon the two boys, and the rustling of the
great leaves above their heads stilled and quieted them so that
they unconsciously spoke in whispers.