“Want me to sneak down there to see what I can learn?” Jack offered.
“It’s risky.”
“I’ll be careful,” Jack promised. “Wait here for me. If I need help, I’ll whistle. Otherwise, you’ll know I’m okay.”
“Learn what you can and report back,” Mr. Livingston advised. “Don’t take any unnecessary chances.”
Jack slipped away in the darkness, avoiding the open clearing. Keeping low, he circled until he came out directly behind a thatched hut. Peering cautiously in, he saw that it was deserted.
A man with long, shaggy black hair came out of one of the buildings, a bush knife swinging from his leather belt. Jack drew back and waited until he had moved out of view. Then, making certain that no one else was about, he crept stealthily on toward the doorway of a larger hut.
Only a dim light burned inside. It gave forth enough illumination however, for Jack to discern the figures of Rhodes and the bandit.
They were seated opposite each other at a crudely made wooden table. The bandit seemed in an ugly mood, for he spoke in a loud voice, his talk an incoherent mixture of Spanish and English.
At first, crouching against the flimsy wall, Jack could not gain the conversation’s drift. But he saw Rhodes lay several bills on the table in front of Carlos.
“This will pay you well for your work, Carlos,” the engineer said. “Believe me, I wasn’t trying to give you the slip. You’d have had your pay for getting rid of Corning.”