She and Juan had gone out to the cemetery in the morning, and had not returned. A search had been made in the afternoon and the footprints of men had been discovered, showing that the girl had fallen into the hands of a party of natives. The midshipmen bade good-bye to their native friend who entered the canoe and paddled shoreward, and then Phil rang for full speed ahead on the engines. “The loyalty of these natives to the Rodriguez family is touching,” Sydney exclaimed in admiration. “Garcia alone betrayed his friend; but he did it through superstitious fear of the Katipunan society. Lopez is as staunch as a rock, and Lukban, you can see, would lay down his life willingly for his young mistress.” Two hours later the “Mindinao” had steamed through the harbor of Palilo and turned her bow northward. During the night Sydney and O’Neil took turns with Phil in standing watch on the gunboat’s bridge, carefully searching the shore for the signal agreed upon with Lopez. Would he succeed in coming up with the fleeing outlaw? The night wore slowly along and morning dawned clear, finding all three of the Americans up and on the bridge of the rapidly moving vessel. No sails were in sight. A wide expanse of water was before them, while on the port hand the low swamp land of Banate was in plain sight. Phil steered his ship in toward the bamboo town nestling in the hollow of two small hills in the midst of the swampy mouth of the Mani River. As they approached, the Americans could discover naught but the usual listless life of a Filipino village. “I’ll patrol here,” Phil said, as he steered further offshore. All day long the gunboat steamed backward and forward over fifteen miles of coast line. An occasional sail was sighted and overhauled, only to find in it a handful of frightened fishermen. As night approached the gunboat was brought to a stop in the centre of the line of patrol in order that it might be at an equal distance from all possible points of departure, in case Espinosa had eluded his pursuers. “If he has a proa in waiting, hidden in the swamps of one of these estuaries, he will choose night for his escape,” Phil declared as he studied his inaccurate chart, “and at night he can easily elude us, for it is too dark to see a half mile. Our only hope is that there will be no wind, and if the air is sufficiently calm we can hear the dip of oars for miles.” Phil stationed his sailors as lookouts everywhere, with orders to listen alertly and make known to him if they heard the slightest sound. The night drew on. The others had gone below for their broken night’s sleep, and Sydney was alone on the bridge. A half dozen lookouts were alert, peering into the night, their energies bent on catching the faintest sound from the distant shore.