Helen kept her father informed of the progress of Roberto's case, and in return he wrote Helen that the detectives were confident of reaching old Queen Zelaya and her tribe.
"But if we could only get Roberto to talk!" sighed Ruth.
"Why, Ruth Fielding! if the poor fellow has been made speechless by that fall, how can he talk?"
"I know, but——"
"Don't you believe it is so?"
"Why—yes," admitted Ruth. "Of course, he would have no reason for refusing to speak. And they say he has a hard time making them understand what he wants, for he doesn't know how to write. Poor fellow! I suppose he never realized before, that the art of writing was of any use to him."
In a week or so the girls were allowed to go to the ward where Roberto lay. Helen carried an armful of good things for the Gypsy lad to eat, but Ruth remembered that he had not cared much for delicacies, and she carried picture papers and a great armful of brilliant fall flowers—some picked by herself in the woods, and the others begged from Tony Foyle.
"Taking flowers to a boy—pshaw!" scoffed Helen. "Why, that shows you have no brother, Ruthie. Tom wouldn't look at flowers when he's sick."
Ruth believed she had made no mistake. When they approached the bed in which Roberto lay, he looked very pale indeed, and the expression of weariness on his face as he stared out of the distant window, made Ruth's heart ache for the captive wild-boy.
"Here are visitors for you, Robert," said the kindly nurse.