At the word “bed” Harvey had become very much interested, so, for that matter, had Ferguson and Hope-Jones, and they were not at all loath to accept the invitation which had been so insistently given.
After travelling five minutes and entering what was evidently the better section of the Montaña town, they stopped before a one-story building, bordered by verandas, that was spread out over much ground and was surrounded by fruit trees. It was the most imposing structure they had yet seen in the village, though, like others, it was built of adobe, reënforced with bamboo.
The host and his companions were met by an Indian woman, who appeared to be of better class than those the travellers had seen on the streets, and she was presented to them as Señora Cisneros. Her greeting was spoken in excellent Spanish, and although not quite as demonstrative as her husband’s, it was none the less sincere. The travellers were led to two connecting rooms, and after discarding their burdens and returning to the cool veranda, they were asked if they would not like to drink some cold coffee.
“We have learned the art of coffee-making from the Brazilians,” said Señor Cisneros, “and, believe me, the beverage is better cold than hot. Would you like to observe our arrangement? But perhaps you are tired?”
Hope-Jones confessed that he was tired, but Ferguson and Harvey manifested interest in the Brazilians’ teachings; so while the Englishman remained on the veranda, chatting with the señora, the two young Americans accompanied the host to the rear of the house and into an arbor that was covered with trailing vines. It was a cool spot, far enough from buildings to be affected by all breezes, and in the centre stood an immense earthen vessel, the height of a man and at least four feet in circumference. A foot and a half from the bottom was a spigot.
“This jar is made of porous clay,” said the señor, tapping the vessel, “and as a slight amount of the liquid filters through, evaporation cools its contents. Once every three months we boil coffee by the barrel. It is poured in here, permitted to settle for a week, and all sediment goes to the bottom. You will notice that I draw the liquid from some distance above,” and he placed a pitcher beneath the spigot, turning which, a dark, clear liquid flowed.
“Taste it?” and he filled a small cup, then another. “Is it not cold?” he added.
Ferguson and Harvey found the beverage delicious, and expressed wonder that it could be coffee.
“Wait until some sugar is added,” said the Peruvian, as pitcher in hand he led the way back to the house.
For a half hour they rested on the veranda, sipping cold coffee sweetened with brown sugar, and eating paltas, which Señora Cisneros had placed on a little table. They related their adventures to host and hostess, and, without revealing their reason for visiting the interior, told that they were in search of gold.