"Well?" he questioned in Portuguese, his accent none of the best. "Any news? Any more callers?"
"None, señor."
"And the news?"
"Good, señor; he lives. He will get well and strong to command us."
There was a gleam of pleasure in the eyes of the two sentries as Jack spoke, while they watched him beat upon the door and enter.
"A fine officer; one of the English!" exclaimed the Spaniard, who seemed to be on the best of terms with the Portuguese guerrilla, a strange occurrence in those days. "If the worst were to come to the worst——"
"Yes," responded the other, in a patois both could understand, "yes, he would command. But it would not be the same; the Señor Tom is one man, the Señor Jack another."
Inside stood the faithful Andrews and Howeley, drawn stiffly to attention, saluting their officer. Jack's serious face brightened.
"Well?" he demanded again, as if he were short of words.