“No, señor; thank you. We wished to consult with you regarding a certain matter. Will you go for a short walk with me?” asked the elder American.
“With pleasure,” and he led the way back of the house, to the arbor, while Hope-Jones and Harvey remained on the veranda with the señora, who looked at them curiously, wondering of course what it meant, but she politely refrained from asking questions.
The two were absent about a half hour, and when they came in sight again Ferguson nodded his head, as if to say, “He will go,” and the señor grasped each of them by a hand.
“Pardon me, but I must immediately tell my wife of this extraordinary news,” said he. “You need have no fear. My secrets are safe with her,” and the two passed into the house.
“So he’ll go?”
“I should say so. You should have seen his eyes glisten. He believes that every word old Huayno uttered is true; says he’s heard legends of this sort, but no one was ever able to locate the mine. All stories agree, however, that it is beyond the cinchona trees.”
“It was a capital thought, that of Harvey’s! I wonder how long it will be before he can accompany us?”
The señor answered the question in person, reappearing just then and saying, “I shall be able to leave in an hour, if you wish to start that soon.”
“In an hour?”
“Yes,” he replied, smiling. “I am accustomed to long journeys and am always ready for departure. The señora is even now placing my things in order.”