“What good’ll that do? We can see way up the river from here.”
“I don’t know,” was Billie’s response, “but I’ve got a hunch to take a look.”
“Well, go ahead. Don Antonio and I will stay here. If you see anything, call.”
Slowly Billie forced his way through the fringe of bushes that lined the bank, and, little by little, climbed to the top of the big rock, from which he could gain just as good a view of the mountainous country at the side as he could of the river. What he saw caused him to drop hastily to the ground and
crawl a step or two backward, for directly in front of him, not a hundred yards away, was a score or more men grouped around Don Rafael, who was addressing them earnestly.
Waiting to see whether or not he had been observed, and judging from the fact that there was no commotion from below that he had not, Billie cautiously peered through the foliage.
The spot upon which the men were gathered was right at the mouth of the little stream before mentioned. A boat, evidently the one in which Adrian had seen Don Rafael and his two companions, was tied to the bank.
So far as Billie could see, only three or four of the men were armed. They seemed a peaceable lot.
“I wonder what he is telling them?” mused Billie in a partly audible voice—a habit of talking with himself of which he seemed totally unconscious. “I wish I could get near enough to hear.”
Cautiously he crept nearer the edge of the rock, in the meantime straining every nerve to catch a word. Once he did catch the sound of Don Rafael’s voice, but he could not understand.