“Tell me, friend,” began Josè, “who you are, and where you come from.”
“Reed––Charles Reed––New York––mining engineer––down here to examine the so-called mines of the Molino Company, now gasping its last while awaiting our report. Arrived this afternoon from Badillo with my partner, fellow named Harris. But––great heavens, man! you certainly were in a stew when we appeared! And why don’t you escape now?”
“Escape, friend? Where? Even if we passed the guard, where would we go? There are two women, a girl, and a babe with us. We have little food and no money. Should we gain the Boque or Guamocó trail, we would be pursued and shot down. There is a chance here––none in flight!
“But now, Mr. Reed,” continued Josè earnestly, “will you get word from me to the Bishop in Cartagena that our church has been attacked––that its priest is besieged by the Alcalde, and his life in jeopardy?”
“Assuredly––but how?”
“You have money?” said Josè, speaking rapidly. “Good. Your bogas have not returned to Badillo?”
“No, they are staying here for the big show. Execution of the traitors, you know.”
“Then, friend, send them at dawn to Bodega Central. Let them take a message to be sent by the telegraph from that place. Tell the Bishop––”
“Sure!” interrupted the other. “Leave it to me. I’ll fix up a message that will bring him by return boat! I’ve been talking with the Honorable Alcalde and I’ve got his exact number. Say, he certainly is the biggest damn––beg pardon; I mean, the biggest numbskull I have ever run across––and that’s saying considerable for a mining man!”
“Go, friend!” said Josè, making no other reply to the man’s words. “Go quickly––and use what influence you have with the Alcalde to save us. We have women here––and a young girl!” He found the American’s hand and led him out into the night.