ule
had been hard riding.

"First of all," he said to himself, half aloud, "I've got to find out
where I'm at. Then I'll maybe be able to figure out what I ought to do."

Stuart's mind was not so quick as it was strong. He was a straight
up-and-down honest type of fellow, and thoroughly disliked the crafty
and intriguing boy or man. He began cautiously, but got warmed up as he
went on, and made a whirlwind finish.

It was characteristic of him, thus, not to plunge into any wild and
desperate attempt to rescue his father, until he had time to puzzle out
the situation and work out a plan of action. He began by reading all the
papers and documents he had taken from his father's knapsack. This was a
long job, for the papers were full of allusions to subjects he did not
understand. It was nearly noon before he had digested them.

Then he lay on his back and looked up through the tracery of leaves
overhead, talking aloud so that the sound of his own voice might make
his discoveries clearer.

"The way I get it," he mused, "Father's on the trail of some plot
against the United States. This plot is breaking loose, here, in Haiti.
This Manuel Polliovo's in it, and so is a negro General, Cesar Leborge.
There's a third, but the papers don't say who he is.

"Now," he went on, "I've two things to do. I've got to find Father and
I've got to find out this plot. Which comes first?"

He rolled over and consulted one or two of the papers.

"Looks like something big," he muttered, kicking his heels meditatively.
"I wonder what Father would say I ought to do?"

At the thought, he whirled over and up into a sitting posture.

"If it's dangerous to the U. S.," he said, "that's got to come first.
And I don't worry about Father. He can get out of any fix without me."

The glow of his deep-hearted patriotism began to burn in the boy's eyes.
He sat rigid, his whole body concentrated in thought.

"If Manuel Polliovo has captured Father," he said aloud, at last, "it
must have been because Father was shadowing him. That means that Manuel
doesn't want to be shadowed. That means I've got to shadow him. But
how?"

The problem was not an easy one. It was obvious that Stuart could not
sleuth this Cuban, Manuel, without an instant guess being made of his
identity, for white boys were rare in Haiti. If only he were not white.
If only----

Stuart thumped on the ground in his excitement.

Why could he not stain his skin coffee-color, like a