“That depends,” laughed Alano. “The White Mountains or the Adirondacks are perhaps nicer, but what of the forests and everglades in Florida?”
“Just as bad as this, I suppose.”
“Yes, and worse, for the ground is wetter, I believe. But come, don’t lag. We must make several more miles before we rest.”
We proceeded up a hill and across a level space which was somewhat cleared of brush and trees. Beyond we caught sight of a thatched hut. Hardly had it come into view than from its interior we heard a faint cry for help.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
ANDRES.
“What is that?” ejaculated Alano, stopping short and catching my arm.