“Ah, señorita,” murmured the man, “what can a poor wounded, as I, do for you?”
“A great deal, and perhaps I can do you a good turn.” She listened for a moment to the howling wind shrieking around the little hut. It was the only sound she heard. There was no whistle of Hail Columbia. “I can perhaps help you by getting word to your mother,” she continued, “but first I must make you safe here.”
“Ah, señorita, an angel you are.” The man’s dark eyes lost some of their fierceness as he gazed at her from under his matted locks.
“I will tell you why I wish to do this,” said Alison. “I once promised your mother that so far as I had power to prevent it no harm should befall you. I did not foresee this situation, but I will not inform upon you if you will tell me where Steve Hayward is.”
The man looked around startled, as if to see if escape were possible.
“No, no,” said Alison, “don’t think of that. You would be taken. Quick, tell me. Would you have me give you up?”
She spoke impatiently and the man staggered to his feet, but dropped back again upon the bench with an expression of pain. “I was foolish to come back,” he muttered to himself in Spanish.
“Then why did you do it?” asked Alison.
He looked at her surprised. “You know my language, señorita?”
“Yes, and I can be well understood by your mother. Now I will hide you. Lie down there.” She pointed to the dark corner by the chimney. The man obeyed her and she gathered up the armfuls of brush which Neal had brought in and scattered them over Carlos till he was fairly hidden. “That will do very well,” said Alison. “Now, I am waiting for you to tell me what I asked. Otherwise, you understand, you are in my power.”