“Well, I happen to know there’s a letter in the doctor’s hands. But that is to be given to you in case of accident alone. Isn’t that so, doctor? And there’s no sign of any accident yet, thank goodness!” Boyle sighed, like a man who lays down a heavy load. He had successfully engineered Christobal into the conversation. The Spaniard drew near. He had heard all that had passed, and tried a new line. “I was rather hoping that you would not put that awkward query,” he said, more alive than the sailor to the wisdom of discussing the very topic which offered so many thorns. “Of course, none of us, least of all Courtenay himself, disguises the difficulties which confront him. We have not fought the Alaculofs in two serious battles without learning their tenacity of purpose, and the mere fact that the men hidden in that cleft are compelled to remain invisible shows that they are beleaguered. But the last thing the Indians will expect is the appearance of a boat-load of armed men at this hour, and to take the enemy unawares is the essence of good generalship.” “When am I to have my letter?” she persisted, clinging tenaciously to one clear thought amid the phantasms which thronged her dazed mind. “Oh, come, now! That is not the hopeless view I want you to take. In writing to you, Courtenay was only providing against a mishap. He would not go to certain death. He has too high a sense of what is due to his position as captain of a ship like the _Kansas_, loaded with a valuable cargo and carrying so many lives. Nor does Tollemache impress me as a would-be suicide. Both men think they will succeed, and they had not any trouble in obtaining a boat’s crew of Chileans. So you see, there is a general belief in success, not failure.” She felt that the doctor was talking against time. He had instructions not to give her that letter until there could be no doubt of the fate which had befallen the rescuers. A mist came over her eyes, but she bit her lower lip fiercely, and the white teeth left their deep impress. The dog squirmed uneasily in her arms, and endeavored to lick her face. Joey’s anxiety rivaled her own; had he, too, a premonition of evil? Christobal was watching her intently. It was evident he feared the outcome of any sudden overthrow of her self-control. “I think,” he suggested, with a real sympathy in his voice, “that it would be better if you went to the saloon, or your cabin. Believe me, I shall come to you with every scrap of news. Boyle will see all that happens and we shall know the best, or the worst, within an hour.” “If you would help me,” she answered dully, “please take the dog away. He is tearing my heart-strings. Poor little fellow, he makes no pretence.”