“Portuguese!”
“I know not, but they chatter much, make much trouble with the women, and show their teeth when they are angry; moreover, they are idle and of little stature.”
“They are certainly Portuguese,” said Hume, with a sly glance at Laura, as he interpreted.
“You may depend,” she said, “that Lieutenant Gobo is still following us, though surely he must have some other motive than that of revenge. His persistence would be out of all proportion to the injury he has received. And you remember the offer he made to me if I disclosed the object of our mission.”
Chapter Twenty Six.
On the March.
They had passed their first night in safety, disturbed only at intervals by the snorting of buffalo, and in the morning they were seated round the fire, eating rather unpalatable “cookies” of meal baked under the coals, and drinking black coffee, steaming hot, from tin pannikins, Hume having made a good selection of stores.
Suddenly Webster planted his tin in the soft ground, threw his head back, and laughed long and hearty.