“You are sure of this, then?”

The voice of Lieutenant Timmons held a tone of deep interest as he gazed at the three blue-jackets standing bareheaded before him in his cabin. At Ned’s request Stanley and Herc Taylor had been included in the summons aft.

“Absolutely, sir,” came Stanley’s deep voice. “I’d know the butt of a Crag-Allen machine gun a block away, sir, and then the weight of those cases——”

“I think there is little doubt that you have stumbled upon the solution of the problem. The thing is to head them off. Have you any suggestions, Mr. Stark?”

The officer turned to the young midshipman, the same whom Ned had saved on the night the man was washed overboard.
 
“Why, sir, Stanley and his shipmates have acted so cleverly in this that it might be well to hear if they have anything to say,” he rejoined.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Stanley, thus encouraged, “but I think that it’s evident they mean to wait till dark and then take the guns down the coast somewhere.”

“By George! I believe you are right,” burst out Lieutenant Timmons. “Most probably they are destined for the northern army of the revolutionists, which, I hear, is marching down the coast to join the main column. They gave the government troops an almighty licking, I understand, and it is doubtful if the latter can rally in time to join with the defending forces at Boca del Sierras.”

“But if they can, sir?” inquired the midshipman.

“In that case the government troops might be strong enough to defend the place. Otherwise, that is, if a junction between the two bodies cannot be effected, the revolutionists bid fair to sweep[112] all before them. But go on, Stanley. What were you about to suggest?”

“I thought, sir, if we could take the gas launch and make after them quiet like, we might find out where the arms were landed, or at least head ’em off.”

“A good plan, my man, but suppose they have several armed men on board? You know, in the delicate situation the United States occupies in this matter, we cannot afford to risk a fight.”

“No, sir,” broke in Ned, “but supposing we borrowed the consul’s launch. That wouldn’t be identified with the Beale, and we could head them off, perhaps, without any one being the wiser as to who it was.”

“The very thing,” heartily agreed Lieutenant Timmons, “only mind you, no adventures like those you had in Cuba.”

“Oh, no, sir,” laughed Ned, flushing up.

“Very well, then, that will do. You may go forward, and be subject to call. I will see to it that the launch is here—at about dusk, eh, Stark?”
 
“Yes, sir, I think that would be the best time,” rejoined the middy.

“Well, you are to be in command of the expedition——”

“Oh, sir!” exclaimed Mr. Stark, blushing under the honor. “Thank you, sir,” he broke out.

“Don’t thank me, Stark. After all, it’s more hard work than honor, for it cannot be mentioned in the dispatches. I shall rely on you, however, to bring back the information we require as to the destination of the arms, and if you can do it without detection the arms themselves. Will you require any more men than Strong, Taylor and Stanley?”

“No, sir, the fewer the better, but we ought to have some one to handle the engine.”

“That’s right. I will get the engineer to detail a man to look after that.”

How that afternoon passed the boys could never tell. If ever hours were leaden-footed, those were. The consul’s launch came off during the afternoon, but immediately returned. During the time the diplomat had been on board,[114] however, the plan had been explained to him, and he had enthusiastically placed his craft at the disposal of the Beale’s commander.

It grew toward dusk at last, however, and the boys ceased their impatient pacing of their cramped quarters. As for Stanley, he was as cool as the proverbial cucumber. Like several of the other men, he had borrowed a fish-line and was bobbing for red snappers most of the afternoon. Quite a number of lines were cast overboard from the Beale, and, though it cannot be said that much fish was caught, a wonderful amount of patience was displayed, so a good end was served after all.

The sun was disappearing behind the high mountains, beyond which a part of the insurgent forces were supposedly encamped, when Ned, who was standing forward gazing at the sunset, gave an exclamation.

“There’s a picture!” he said.

Tacking rapidly toward them across the glowing water was a small fishing craft. She moved[115] swiftly as the evening breeze filled her single leg-o’-mutton sail.

“She’s coming out to us,” cried Herc suddenly.

Indeed, it looked like it, and presently it was seen that Herc was right. The little craft drew almost alongside the grim-looking destroyer before the figure at her helm hauled his sheet and put her about. As she shot away on the other tack there was a sudden splash ............