But the Spaniards had already followed Larry, and were now gazing at Luke in wonder. “Wounded, not so?” said one. “You were in the fight, then.”
“No, we escaped from the prison,” answered Larry, simply. “We were captured during last night. I wish I was sure we’d be safe here until our soldiers come along.” He turned to the old sailor again. “How do you feel now?”
“Better, Larry, a heap better. But I ain’t ready fer no more foot races jest yet.”
“Then we’ll have to remain here. Or perhaps you had better remain here while I go scouting around and see if I can find some of our soldiers, or the ambulance corps.”
“An’ what o’ these gentlemen?”
“We shall go, too,” said one of the Spaniards. “Your friend will be safe here—if he keeps hidden under the sacks,” he added.
Waiting for the strangers to move first, Larry came behind them, still holding the gun as though 68 the weapon were ready for use. The men had spoken fairly enough, yet there was that about them which did not please Larry in the least. “They are regular rascals, or else I miss my guess,” thought the youth.
The roadway still seemed deserted. But far off they could see the natives flying in several directions. Then from a distance came a cheer which Larry knew could only come from American throats.
“Our soldiers must be over there,” he said to the Spaniards. “Will you come with me?”
The men hesitated, and consulted together in their native tongue. “I do not know what to say,” said one, slowly, and began to follow Larry along the highway. Seeing this, the other came, too.