The Presidente sat motionless in his chair long after his messenger had gone. His servant came noiselessly into the room several times but tiptoed away, believing his master was asleep. But Espinosa was far from sleep, his brain was actively at work. How could he hold his position and yet remain undiscovered to this terrible Captain Blynn? He shuddered as he remembered those big hands as they worked longingly to grasp his slender neck. He was not a fighting man; the inheritance of his father’s Chinese blood mixed with the cruelty in the native strain qualified him only for plotting. Others could do the fighting. His brain and cunning would furnish them the means and opportunity. But Rodriguez--he was too honest, and knew too much; he stood a menacing figure in his path as the leader of his people. He had, however, set the train of powder on fire, and now he would watch it burn. Once Rodriguez was removed there were no others strong enough to thwart him. Even Diocno bowed to his superior sagacity. Then he could cast off this halter that he felt tightening about his neck. With Diocno and Rodriguez out of the way, he could make terms with these childlike Americans, and then with his fortune made shake the dust of the islands forever from his feet. An hour before sunset he arose and dressed himself for his ride, ordering his servant to have his horse ready. The messenger had three hours’ start; that would insure the escape of the Tagalos. Captain Blynn would find that his information was true. He could not blame him if the enemy had taken alarm and fled. As for the other matter, if the Americans would only arrest Rodriguez he would see that he did not interfere with his cherished plans for power. As he buckled on his English made leggings, he whistled gaily an old Spanish air, one he had heard in Spain; in his mind he saw the brightly lighted theatre, the richly dressed people in the boxes. Some day he would be rich and he would then be able to recline in a gilded box and cast disdainful glances at an admiring crowd. His joy would have been indeed short-lived and his castles in Spain would have fallen as flat as the surface of the sea on a calm day if he could have known that at that moment his messenger was lying dead in the trail but half-way to his destination, suddenly overcome by the terrible scourge of the camp, cholera. CHAPTER IV LANDED IN CAPTIVITY Phil was too angry and humiliated to do more than glare at the girl who had so cleverly thwarted him in his daring plan to strand the steamer. His companions had started to spring toward the coveted rifles of their enemy, but now they sank back into their seats and hopelessly looked into the menacing muzzles of these same rifles in the hands of the four aroused sentries. The girl had risen to her feet, her face flushed with excitement; she raised her hand to the natives, motioning them to put up their weapons.