“I do not think they will try,” replied Nuñez gently. “I think they will send you down to a little prison on the island of Santa Maria, while they investigate your case. And I do not think, my dear Don Luis, that you will ever come back from that little island. A lovely spot, a paradise, but not healthy, it seems. It is very far away,--so far that sometimes the jailers forget to come to feed the prisoners for months at a time.” “Well, in that case,” said Vickers, with a laugh, “I should think the prisoners would not have very much trouble in making their escape.” “Not the least; they do not have the least, not the least little bit. But the channel is broad there, and the sharks are very hungry, Don Luis.” “Gee, you are a cheerful companion! You put new life in a man, don’t you?” said Vickers. “You must go, and go at once.” “I suppose,” he answered, “that I might slip over the border for a day or two.” “You would be sent back at once. We have a treaty with our neighbors, and it is strictly kept,--especially in regard to those they have no interest in protecting. You must go home, Don Luis. You can catch to-morrow morning’s steamer, if you are quick.” For the first time the countenance of Vickers really clouded. “I can’t go home,” he said; and then, noting the surprise on the doctor’s face, he burst out: “Why, Heaven help you, don’t you suppose I would have gone home long ago, if I could? Did you think I was here for love of the damned country?” “I did,” returned the other simply. “Yes, I am not ashamed to admit that I did. I find my country beautiful,--my countrymen attaching. I believed that you felt it too.” “And so I do, so I do,” said Vickers, “but, man, I’m a northener, and I’d give every palm and orchid in the place for the noise of wheels creaking on packed snow.” “All the more reason, then, why you should go home.” “Look here, my friend,” the other answered, “if I go home I run a fair chance of being electrocuted. If I stay here the sharks get me, or if I escape the sharks, the Señor Don Papa is going to marry me to Rosita. There are three uncomfortable alternatives for a man to choose from.” “I should choose electrocution,” said the doctor. “I think I shall choose a pot shot at the police.” There was a moment of silence, then the doctor asked, “Did you send that letter to Lee’s family?” Vickers shook his head absently. “Then,” cried the other, with decision, “you shall go home as Lee. Ten years might change a man so that not even his own father would know him,--especially ten years in this climate. Beside, there was a resemblance, you know.” Vickers had lifted his head to laugh at the project for its impossibility, and paused to listen further, attracted by its sheer folly.