The moonlight was fading when he opened his eyes and saw that he was lying beside a clump of cactus.  Indistinct objects moved along the road not far off and he heard the click of hoofs on stones.  A mule train was passing and was, no doubt, going to the lagoon.  He could not get up and was glad he was in dark shadow.  The muleteers had probably been told to look out for him and a blow from a heavy stone would prevent his interfering with the rebels’ plans.  The indistinct figures, however, went on and Kit relapsed into unconsciousness.

It was daylight when he wakened and saw a man bending over him.  Kit was cold and wet with dew; his head ached horribly and he did not try to get up.  His pistol was underneath him and if the fellow meant to kill him he could not resist.

“What do you want?” he asked.

The man said he had seen him lying there and imagined he was ill.  Then he held out his hand and asked if Kit could get up.  Kit was surprised when he found himself on his feet, although he swayed as he tried to keep his balance.

“I suppose you are a liberator?” he said dully.

The other clenched his dark fist.  “No, senor!  Those dogs, the Galdareros, are no friends of mine!  But you were for the president; it was known in the town.”

Kit admitted it.  The fellow’s scornful denial was comforting and after some talk, walking with a painful effort, he went with him down the hill to a small mud house.  A few minutes after he got there he went to sleep, but in the meantime the man had promised to help him to reach the lagoon.

He kept his promise, and before it was light next morning Kit dismounted on the sandy beach.  There was no moon and mist drifted about the trees, but the water shone faintly and the tide was nearly full.  The steamer loomed in the gloom and when Kit shouted there was a rattle of pulley blocks and a splash of oars.  Ten minutes afterwards Mayne met him at the gangway and gave him his hand.

“It’s some relief to see you back,” he said.  “Finlay has his fires banked and can get steam to take us out in an hour or two.”

Kit went with him to his room and sat down limply.  He was covered with dust and wet with dew; his face was haggard and his eyes were dull.

“I’ll tell you about my adventures later,” he said.  “What about the cargo?”

“Some dagos came along with a mule train and loaded up part of the truck on the beach.  They had an order that looked as if it had been signed by you, and as they were a pretty tough crowd and had their knives loose, I let them take the goods.  When I studied the order I wasn’t sure about the hand and brought off all they had left.  By and by another gang came along, but I refused to send a boat until I’d seen you.”

“You were prudent,” Kit remarked.  “The order was forged.  Let me see the mate’s cargo-lists.”