The Bloody Border by J. T. Edson

propeller case turned early, there would be a premature explosion.
    Slowly she drifted closer to the steam sloop, seeing its bulk looming up ahead. Then she decided that the time had come.
    Using the device by which the two men had entered the consulate grounds, Belle, the Kid and Shafto had left unseen by the Yankee observers. They passed through the town to where the Negroes and Shafto’s man waited with the boats. Already the torpedoes lay aboard ‘Cousin Rastus’ ’ boat and they moved into position. With the greater distance to cover, Shafto left first and Belle followed when sure he would be almost in place. The tidal current ran at a good speed, sweeping into the bay in a manner calculated to carry home the torpedoes. Everything went according to plan, without any hitch to delay or endanger its effective working.
    Belle released the driftwood, watching it lurch forward and holding down a gulp of concern. No explosion came, so all must still be well beneath the surface. Turning, she started to swim away in the opposite direction and towards he guard boat. At first she went carefully, using a breast stroke and keeping her feet beneath the surface to minimize be noise she made. However, on drawing close to the boat, he struck out and splashed with her arms.
    “What’s that?” one of the boat’s crew asked, turning his head her way.
    “Another tarpon,” replied his companion on the thwart. For a moment Belle thought that the men would dismiss her as another of the big fish. However the midshipman looked her way and came to his feet.
    “Tarpon, hell!” he ejaculated. “It’s a swimmer. After him, men!”
    Powerful arms worked the oars, sending the boat leaping in Belle’s direction. She continued to swim, giving the impression that she was seeking to escape. Surging up, the boat ranged alongside her and hands reached down to catch her by the arm.
    “Come on, mate,” said a voice. “Don’t struggle or I’ll have to crack your skull. You shouldn’t’ve tried to run, you’d never reach the other side.”
    Just as Belle hoped, the men thought of her as a deserter from one of the ships. She intended to alter that as soon as possible. Another set of arms came down to catch her free wrist. Then the two sailors started to haul her upwards. Bracing her feet against the side of the boat, she struggled against the pull. With a growl of annoyance, the man on her left released her wrist with one hand and grabbed at the front of her shirt. She felt his hand close, loosen, feel at her breast then jerk away.
    “Hell’s fire. It’s a woman!” the sailor gasped.
    “Get your stinking Yankee hands off of me!” Belle hissed, sounding as feminine as she could manage.
    Excitement welled up among the boat’s crew and all thought of the fight between the butler and tarpon were forgotten. Then the midshipman’s voice cut through the undisciplined row.
    “Belay that bilge!” he barked and waited until silence fell on the crew. “Put a light on her, Torrey. Let’s see what the hell we’ve landed.”
    ‘Landed’ might be too premature a term, for the two sailors had not yet hauled Belle into the boat. The discovery that their captive was a woman handed them sufficient of a shock that they just sat holding her instead of raising her over the gunwale. Hanging in their hands, both bare feet firmly pressed against the side of the boat. Belle prepared to hand her captors another shock. She felt a slight upwards strain and knew the men had partially recovered from the surprise of their original discovery—and the explosions of the torpedoes still had not come to give the diversion she needed.
    “You’ll make ensign at least for this, brassbounder,” she told the midshipman in a voice throbbing with well-assumed venom. “You’ve just captured Belle Boyd.”
    Once again the pull upwards ended and the sailors stared at her.
    “The Rebel Spy!” a man announced in an excited voice. Then he and all but Belle’s captors