trap, the point of view of the rat
was new to them.

CHAPTER III

WHEREIN THE CAPTAIN REAPPEARS

The fierce hissing of the continuous escape of steam excited alarm in
those not accustomed to machinery. Men and women share the unreasoning
panic of animals when an unknown force reveals its pent-up fury. They
forget that safety-valves are provided, that diminished pressure means
less risk; the knowledge that restraint, not freedom, is dangerous
comes ever in the guise of a new discovery.

The mining engineers, of course, did not share this delusion.

"There must be something serious the matter, or they would not be
wasting power like that," murmured the American to one of his
fellow-professionals.

"A smash-up in the engine-room. Nada es mas seguro," [1] was the
answer.

"Wonder if any one is hurt?"

The Spaniard bent a little nearer. "What can you expect?" he whispered
sympathetically.

In the unnatural peacefulness of the ship's progress, disturbed only by
the roar of the superheated vapor, they all heard the opening of a door
at the head of the saloon stairway. The third officer appeared--his
wet oilskins gleaming and dripping.

"Dr. Christobal, the captain wishes to speak to you," he said.

Christobal rose and crossed the saloon.

"As you are here, won't you tell the ladies there is nothing to be
afraid of in the mere stopping of the engines?" he suggested.

"Oh, the ship is right enough," was the hasty response. "There has
been an accident in the stokehold. That is all."

"Want any help?" demanded the American.

"Well--I'll ask the captain."

Evidently anxious to avoid further questioning, he ran up the
companion. Christobal followed, the door was closed and bolted again.

"I hate the word 'accident.' It covers so many horrid possibilities,"
said Isobel.

"I am afraid some poor fellows have been injured, and that is why
Captain Courtenay sent for Dr. Christobal," said Elsie.

"Oh, of course, I meant that. I was not thinking of the mere delay,
though it is annoying that a breakdown should occur here."

"It would be equally bad anywhere else," put in the missionary's wife,
timidly.

"By no means," was the sharp response. "If we were in the Straits, for
instance, we could signal to San Isidro or Sandy Point; and there would
be other vessels passing. Here, we are in the worst possible place."

Miss Baring's acquaintance with the chief features of the South
American coast-li