“But, friend, where shall we go?” cried Josè in desperation. “There is no place in Colombia now where she would be safe!”
“Then leave the country,” suggested Reed.
“It can not be done,” interposed Don Jorge. “It would be impossible for him to escape down the river with the girl, even if he had funds to carry her away from Colombia, which he has not. At any port he would be seized. To take the trail would only postpone for a short time their certain capture. And then––well, we will not predict! To flee into the jungle––or to hide among the peones along the trails––that might be done––yes.”
“What’s the gibberish about now, pal?” put in Harris, whose knowledge of the Spanish tongue was nil.
Reed explained to him at some length.
“Well, that’s easy,” returned Harris. “Tell ’em you’ll take the girl out yourself. She’s white enough to pass as your daughter, you know.”
Rosendo, stunned by the sudden departure of Ana, had sat in a state of stupefaction during this conversation. But now he roused up and turned to Reed. “What says he, señor?” he inquired thickly.
The latter translated his friend’s suggestion, laughing as he commented on its gross absurdity.
Rosendo dropped his head again upon his chest and lapsed into silence. Then he rose unsteadily and passed a hand slowly across his brow. A strange light had come into his eyes. For a moment he stood looking fixedly at Reed. Finally he began to speak.