"I'd rather have you do that, Uncle Randolph," said Dick. "I don't want him with me."
"I will have a talk with the misguided boy," was the conclusion reached by Randolph Rover; but he got no chance to speak to Dan Baxter until late in the afternoon, and then, to his astonishment, Baxter's manner had changed entirely, he intimating that he wanted nothing more to do with them.
For in the meantime something which was bound to be of great importance to the Rovers had occurred. In Boma were a number of persons of mixed French and native blood who were little better than the old-time brigands of Italy. They were led by a wicked wretch who went by the name of Captain Villaire. Villaire had been watching the Rovers for two days when he noticed the coldness which seemed to exist between, our friends and Baxter. At once he threw himself in Baxter's way and began to it pump the youth regarding the Americans.
"Zay are going into the interior, you have remarked," he said in very bad English. "Are zay verra rich people?"
"Yes, they are well fixed," answered the tall youth.
"And zay do carry zare money wid zem?"
"I guess not—at least, not much of it."
"You are zare friend, eh?"
"Hardly. Out in America we were enemies."
"So? You hata zem?"