“Then I may say that some hours ago, when you stood where you are now standing, discussing this question with me, my eyes were resting on General Yozarro.”
“You astonish me, Captain; be more explicit.”
“I knew when he sailed out of sight around the bend in the river, that he would not go far. He did not. He ran to the southern bank, lowered his sail, and pulled the boat so far under the overhanging vegetation that neither you nor your friends noted it. Knowing where to look, I was more fortunate. The General signalled to me to come to land, so that he and his men could attack you.”
“Why did you not do so? Yet it would have been your death warrant to have made the attempt.”
“That was not the reason why I did not go to him; I had given the General one opportunity, and was too impatient with him to provide a second. But, more than that, you had my parole.”
“True; I had forgotten that. May I ask what you think General Yozarro’s plan is?”
“He does not understand why I refused to obey his signal, and there will be a hot quarrel over it when we meet. He expects me to return, sooner or later, for he must know that the purpose of yourself is to reach Zalapata with the Señorita, after which I shall be at liberty to return to Atlamalco. I shall, therefore, find him not far from where I saw him a few hours ago.”
“I beg to renew the assurances of my distinguished consideration, Captain,” said the American, saluting and passing back to the cabin.
The massive Dictator of the Zalapatan Republic was puffing and striding to and fro over the short length of the cabin, the point of his scabbard titillating against the floor, for his steps, though of moderate length for an ordinary man, were long for a person of his build. His face was redder than ever, and it was clear that he was agitated over some great question that was wriggling through his brain.
When he wheeled and faced the American, he whipped off his plumed hat and sagged down upon the lounge at the side of the cabin. It creaked but held.