But the episode was destined to terminate at that instant, for at that instant a sailor called from amidships: “Smoke! A steamer-smoke dead aft!” The passage of an hour determined the nature and import of the smoke, for the _Angelique_, falling into a calm, was overhauled with such rapidity that the tugboat _Dolores_, at half a mile distance through the binoculars, was seen fairly to bristle with armed men crowded on her tiny for’ard deck. Both Henry and Francis could recognize the faces of the Jefe Politico and of several of the gendarmes. Old Enrico Solano’s nostrils began to dilate, as, with his four sons who were aboard, he stationed them aft with him and prepared for the battle. Leoncia, divided between Henry and Francis, was secretly distracted, though outwardly she joined in laughter at the unkemptness of the little tug, and in glee at a flaw of wind that tilted the _Angelique’s_ port rail flush to the water and foamed her along at a nine-knot clip. But weather and wind were erratic. The face of the lagoon was vexed with squalls and alternate streaks of calm. “We cannot escape, sir, I regret to inform you,” Captain Trefethen informed Francis. “If the wind would hold, sir, yes. But the wind baffles and breaks. We are crowded down upon the mainland. We are cornered, sir, and as good as captured.” Henry, who had been studying the near shore through the glasses, lowered them and looked at Francis. “Shout!” cried the latter. “You have a scheme. It’s sticking out all over you. Name it.” “Right there are the two _Tigres_ islands,” Henry elucidated. “They guard the narrow entrance to Juchitan Inlet, which is called El Tigre. Oh, it has the teeth of a tiger, believe me. On either side of them, between them and the shore, it is too shoal to float a whaleboat unless you know the winding channels, which I do know. But between them is deep water, though the El Tigre Passage is so pinched that there is no room to come about. A schooner can only run it with the wind abaft or abeam. Now, the wind favors. We will run it. Which is only half my scheme——” “And if the wind baffles or fails, sir—and the tide of the inlet runs out and in like a race, as I well know—my beautiful schooner will go on the rocks,” Captain Trefethen protested. “For which, if it happens, I will pay you full value,” Francis assured him shortly and brushed him aside. “—And now, Henry, what’s the other half of your scheme?” “I’m ashamed to tell you,” Henry laughed. “But it will be provocative of more Spanish swearing than has been heard in Chiriqui Lagoon since old Sir Henry sacked San Antonio and Bocas del Toro. You just watch.” Leoncia clapped her hands, as with sparkling eyes she cried: “It must be good, Henry. I can see it by your face. You must tell _me_.”