the rescuing hand.
Hardly a word was spoken, and they started off. After going a
considerable distance they came to a slab hut built at the foot of a
high range of hills that formed the backbone of the island.

Two shepherd dogs rushed forth and gave their master a boisterous
welcome, and were soon good friends with Juarez. Everything in the hut
was neat; with Indian rugs on the floor which gave a warm touch of
color to the interior and one side of the hut was lined with books.

"What am I thinking of," suddenly cried Juarez in dismay, "to leave Tom
in the hands of that crew? My head is wrong." With that, he grew pale
and slid unconscious to the floor. He had evidently not recovered from
the blow that the Mexican had dealt him a few days before, and the
strain he had been under brought on a relapse. The shepherd worked over
him a long time before he finally brought him around.

Meanwhile what had become of Tom? He had not been quick enough to make
his escape, and his fate was in the balance when the Skipper came up to
him just after Juarez had disappeared over the cliff.

"You don't get away, I promise you that, lad," growled the Captain.
Roughly seizing the boy by the shoulder he dragged him toward the cliff.
Then the two disappeared into the entrance of a cave, the Captain still
holding in one hand his battered leather satchel.

The sailor who stood on guard at the entrance, saw just then the lights
of a steamer that was just entering the channel and he rushed into the
cave, called to the Captain, and in a few minutes that worthy appeared.
If he felt any alarm he showed none, but without any loss of time he
assembled his crew, got his boat free of land and rowed silently out to
sea. Whatever he had intended to do with Tom, evidently passed from his
mind, now awakened to the solution of some other problem.

CHAPTER XXX

IN THE STRAIT

As Juarez and Tom were under the kindly escort of Captain Broom and his
sailors in the whale boat on their cruise to the mysterious island, Jo,
Jim and the Spaniard had stopped at an old sycamore tree, where, as had
been promised, the Indian messenger was awaiting their coming.

"What news, Yaquis?" asked the Spaniard, who knew the Indian well.

"I saw the boat by my own eyes," he replied, "heading for the Big
Island," pointing to the South. "By her smoke she stopped in the Bow
Harbor near the lower end." So spoke the Indian, standing straight and
tall. He was a picture