“He won’t be taken prisoner; perhaps, too, he may gain the chance to slay General Yozarro; it will delight his heart if he can do so.”
“No more than it will delight mine; talk with him, Captain; if he will help me through with this business, he will never regret it.”
Captain Guzman made his way past the sail to the bow where the native was sitting, gazing thoughtfully back over the stream they were leaving behind them. He turned his head as his friend approached, and the two talked in low tones, both seemingly calm, though each was stirred by strong emotion. Then the Captain came back to the American, who, with his hand on the tiller, was holding the boat to her course. He ran in quite close to the southern shore and was studying the Rubio Mountains, whose craggy crests were visible in the sky throughout the whole voyage between the capitals of the republics. He was consumed with resentment that anyone had dared to hold the daughter of an American citizen a guest without her consent,—in other words a prisoner, as if she were a criminal. Manifestly there was a “sovereign remedy” for all this. The great United States Government would not permit the outrage, and any wrong done to one of its people would cost the miserable offender dear.
But the leading Republic of the world lay many leagues to the northward. It would take weeks to bring a naval vessel thence, and certainly a number of days before one could come from the nearest port. Meanwhile, the hours were of measureless value. The Major ground his teeth when he thought he had allowed his yacht to pass down the river to San Luis, with the understanding that she need not return for several days. There was no way, however, of getting word to Captain Winton, who could not suspect the urgent necessity for his presence in this part of the land of abominations.
“Martella will be glad to go with us; he says we should go ashore just this side of the point of land ahead.”
“He doesn’t seem to have any weapons with him,” remarked the Major, scrutinizing the fellow, who was looking at him with a curiously intent expression.
“He could not bring his musket, but he has a knife under his coat, and none knows better how to use it.”
“Bring him here.”
Guzman motioned to his friend, who rose to his feet, touching a forefinger to the front of his sombrero, and skilfully picked his course along the careening boat.
“Take the tiller for a few minutes, Captain.”