What those
plans might be I could merely conjecture, with little enough to guide
my guessing. They might be filibusters, connected with some revolution
along the Central American coast, smugglers, or marauders of even less
respectability. Their methods were desperate enough for any deeds of
crime. Without doubt they utilized this comparatively forsaken lagoon
as a hidden rendezvous, and the deserted Henley plantation--from which
even the negroes had been frightened away--was an ideal spot for them
to meet in, plan their raids, or secrete their spoils. These fellows
were doubtless the ghosts which haunted the place, and had given it so
uncanny a reputation throughout the neighborhood. They would naturally
resent any interference, any change in ownership, or control.
Possibly, if they were thieves, as I more than half suspected, they had
loot buried nearby, and were anxious to get us out of the way long
enough to remove it unobserved. This appealed to me as by far the most
probable explanation.
I had cleaned the dishes, and was sitting on the stool, leaning back
against the wall, already becoming sleepy, listening to the rhythmic
pulsation of the engines at low speed, when the door opened again, and
the guard stood revealed before me in the glare of light.
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