Jacket, of course, went along.  Upon the announcement of O’Reilly’s intended departure for the States he had promptly abandoned Cuba to her fate.  He foreswore her utterly and declared himself a loyal American citizen.  He made it plain once more, and for the last time, that where O’Reilly went, there went he, for they were one and indivisible.  It dismayed him not at all to turn his feet to new pathways, his face toward new adventures.

Relying upon the best information obtainable at Cubitas, O’Reilly had counted upon securing a sailboat from a certain fisherman whose sympathies were known to be loyal, but in this he was disappointed.  The party arrived at its destination, a tiny clearing on an unfrequented part of the north shore, only to find it deserted and already grown to weeds.  The house was empty, the boats were gone—­all but one old hulk, too rotten to warrant moving, which lay high up on the sand, its planks worm-eaten, its seams wide spread by the sun.

Having established Esteban in the hut, O’Reilly took counsel with his Cubans, but gained little satisfaction from them.  They knew of no other fisherman in this vicinity; the nearest towns were in Spanish hands; they advised a return to Cubitas at once.  This O’Reilly would not listen to.  Sending them in one direction, he took Leslie and Jacket and rode away in the other.  The trio followed the beach for several miles until they came to a vast mangrove swamp which turned them inland.  This they skirted until the jungle became impassable and they were in danger of losing themselves; they returned at dusk, having encountered no human being and having discovered neither roads nor houses.

The other expedition reported slightly better successes; it had located a small plantation some distance to the east, the owner of which had warned them against exploring farther, inasmuch as a strong Spanish patrol, on the lookout for that American despatch-bearer from Nassau, was operating in his neighborhood.  It was these very troops, he announced, who had driven the fisherman from his home; he was sure there were no boats anywhere within reach.

O’Reilly was in a quandary.  He gravely doubted Esteban’s ability to stand the rough return journey, and when he spoke to Norine of turning back she was panic-stricken at the suggestion.

“No, no!” she cried, anxiously.  “We must get him away.  Oh, Johnnie, every day we lose by waiting lessens his chances!  His heart is set on going through and it would—­kill him to go back.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to go through,” he smiled.

For the first time in their acquaintance Norine lost control of herself.

“We simply must find a boat.  All he needs is proper care, proper food, and medical attention.  Here we can get nothing.  Why, the disappointment alone—­” Her voice failed her, tears started to her eyes, and she began to tremble wretchedly.  “If he—­If I—­lose him I’ll die, too,” she sobbed.