onclusion, "I'm here adrift, waiting for
the last act. I thought Miraflores might possibly be on the _Amazon_
last night, and so, while you sat dawdling over letter-paper and pen,
little Howard Stanley was up and doing. I went across to the other
boat, and made search, but it was another case of nothing transpiring.
Miraflores was too foxy to go touring so openly."

Saxon felt that some comment was expected from him, yet his mind was
wandering far afield from the doings of _juntas_. All these seemed as
unreal as scenes from an extravagantly staged musical comedy. What
appeared to him most real at that moment was the picture of a slim
girl walking, dryad-like, through the hills of her Kentucky homeland,
and the thought that he would soon be walking with her.

"It looks gloomy for the city," he said, abstractedly.

"Say," went on Rodman, "do you know that the only people on that boat
booked for Puerto Frio were three fool American tourists, and that, of
the three, two were women? Now, what chance have those folks got to
enjoy themselves? Do you think Puerto Frio, say day after to-morrow,
will make a hit with them?" The informant laughed softly to himself,
but Saxon was still deep in his own thoughts. It suddenly struck him
with surprised discovery that the view from the deck was beautiful.
And Rodman, also, felt the languid invitation of the sea air, and it
made him wish to talk. So, unmindful of a self-absorbed listener, he
went on garrulously.

"You know, I felt like quoting to them, 'Into the jaws of death, into
the mouth of hell, sailed the three tourists,' but that would have
been to tip off state secrets. If people will fare forth for
adventure, I guess they've got to have it."

"Do you suppose," asked Saxon perfunctorily, "they'll be in actual
danger?"

"Danger!" repeated the filibuster with sarcasm. "Danger, did you say?
Oh, no, of course not. It will be a pink tea! You know that town as
well as I do. You know there are two places in it where American
visitors can stop--the _Frances y Ingles_, where you were, and the
American Legation. By day after to-morrow, that plaza will be the
bull's-eye for General Vegas's target-practice. General Vegas has a
mountain to rest his target-gun on, and it's loaded with shell. Oh,
no, there won't be any danger!"

"Wasn't there some pretext on which you could warn them off?" inquired
the painter.

Rodman shook his head.

"You see, I have to be careful in my talk. I mig