The prisoner complied rather grumpily. His sense of humor was in eclipse. For a compulsory cook, he brewed a most excellent pot of coffee which Devlin complimented in friendly terms. As an experienced judge of men and their motives, he observed, after reflection: "I do not think so harshly of you as I did. War is a cruel game, and you are too old a dog to learn new tricks, I suppose. You ought to have been caught young and tamed. I believe you had a notion of befriending the Goodwin lad." "Thank you, Devlin. It has been a good many years since any man said as decent a thing as that about me." The fallen soldier of fortune looked his gratitude, and his face was more eloquent than his words. A long silence fell between them. Each man was busy with his own thoughts. It was broken by Devlin. "Quesada will not dare to knock Goodwin on the head and throw him into the bay, will he? He thinks he has kidnapped the lad without anybody's knowledge. And he has reason enough for getting rid of him." "No. You need have no fear of that. He may plan nothing worse than to maroon him in the jungle of San Salvador." "It would be as bad as death for the boy, and his right arm is useless." Through the seaward windows they heard the distant throb of a steamer's engines, fluttering, irregular. The sound carried far across the quiet water. The two men gazed at each other. "She makes a clatter like a mowing-machine. You could hear her for miles," said Devlin. He leaped to his feet and menaced his prisoner with the revolver. "'Tis an old, worn-out boat that makes a noise like that." "It is the _Juan Lopez_," exclaimed Captain Brincker, and he did not flinch. "I know those engines of hers. She is outward bound. She has sailed without me." "Who cares about you?" roared Devlin. "Alfaro failed to turn the trick. Quesada has carried young Goodwin to sea, and precious little show the lad will have for his life." CHAPTER VII A FAT RASCAL COMES TO GRIEF When Jack Devlin learned that the _Juan Lopez_ had gone to sea, he forgot his threat of putting the soldier of fortune in a Canal Zone jail. His one concern was to rescue Walter Goodwin. The steam-shovel man had that rugged, indomitable temperament which refuses to quit as long as there is a fighting chance. Fiercely turning upon the disconsolate Captain Brincker, he shouted: "I have no time to bother with you. You could have saved the lad, and you stood by and let Quesada carry him away. Many a man has stretched hemp for a deed less cruel. I will wait here for Alfaro. Get out of my sight. The house is not big enough for the two of us." Without a word Captain Brincker, sorry, ashamed, and perhaps repentant, went into the street. Devlin paced the hallway like a caged lion, hoping against hope that Alfaro might be bringing Walter Goodwin ashore in the launch. It was after midnight when the Colombian came running into the house with only breath enough to gasp: