breath, hoping he would not come his way.

When the old pirate had disappeared, Jim completed his search of the
deck staterooms, but the senorita was in none of them. The only thing
that remained for Jim was to search the rooms leading from the main
saloon below. He rather mistrusted going down there, and he had most
sincerely hoped that the girl would be in one of the deck rooms, then
his task would have been comparatively easy, but it seemed as if luck
was breaking against him.

He went cautiously but quickly along the deck until he reached the
stairway leading down into the cabin. There was the large lamp lit in
the saloon, but turned very low. As he cautiously descended into the
saloon his heart went into his throat at the sight of the gaunt woman
with the red hair who had been the senorita's jailer in the castle. She
was apparently asleep on one of the divans, but Jim would have much
rather seen anyone else on guard than this redoubtable woman whose
vigilance had been his undoing before. It might have been possible to
have outwitted or defeated a man, but he really was in some awe of this
Amazon.

The first thing for Jim to do was to determine which of the four cabins
opening off the saloon was the prison of the senorita. He could not go
from one to the other opening the doors, for the woman on guard would be
sure to hear, nor could he say after the manner of children, "My mother
told me to take this one."

It was like the suitor of Portia in the "Merchant of Venice," who was
forced to choose his fate from one of three chests with misleading
mottoes on them. But there was no time to lose. Should he take a chance?
There seemed no other way. However, Jim was an experienced scout, as the
reader well knows, and his skill could be put to use inside of walls as
well as out on the desert or in the pathless mountains, where he might
be searching for some obscure trail.

He crawled over the heavily carpeted floor on his hands and knees to the
first door, but he found no trace to guide him. The second seemed to
reward his scrutiny, for the nap of the rug showed the imprint of feet
and the brass knob of the door was somewhat tarnished.

At that moment he heard the sound of heavy feet upon the stairway. He
knew that tread; he had heard it before. There was no hiding-place
except under the hanging of the heavy tablecloth, and with a quiet
celerity, Jim slid under its protection just as the woman stirred from
the divan,