“We are American,” said Mark. “Can you speak English?”
“Americans, eh?” put in another man. “I’m an American myself. How did you get on that tree?”
“It’s a long story,” answered Mark. “We were with a party along the Orinoco but we went ashore and got lost. Are we far from that river?”
“Eight miles. You look pretty wet.”
“We came over the falls.”
“Gee whiz! It’s a wonder you are alive!” burst out the American, whose name was Simon Smither. “Come ashore, and I’ll take you to the boss. This place is Castroville. Maybe you’ve heard of it. We have here the Little Bolivar and the Moonlight Mines, two of the best payers in this section of the country.”
“Castroville!” ejaculated Frank. He remembered that Andy Hume had once mentioned the place to him. “Is there a newcomer here by the name of Andy Hume?”
“There is. He’s up to the office now. So you know him?”
“We do,” answered Mark, and then told their story while the whole party hurried from the river to where the offices of the mines were located, not far from the engine house.
Andy Hume saw them coming and leaped up from a stool to receive them. “I declare,” he cried. “Where did you come from? Thought you were hunting and fishing along the Orinoco.”