“They do not seem to me to be enthusiastic militarists.”
“A grave error, señor. They are delighted to be soldiers. What else could they be?”
“They are volunteers, then?” questioned the scientist. And to Natividad’s stupefaction, he produced his note-book.
“No, not volunteers, illustrious señor.... We send troops into the Indian villages, and arrest every able-bodied man who has not bolted. Then we enroll them as volunteers.”
“Charming! And you are not afraid that they may turn on you when you have armed them?”
“Not in the least. After the first few days they decide they are so much better off under the colors that they would not go back to their families for anything.... You should see them join in the recruiting afterwards!... They make very good soldiers.... These men are only annoyed at being taken into the mountains; they would die for Veintemilla.”
“So much the better,” concluded Uncle Francis philosophically. And he added, to Natividad’s growing amazement:—“But why insist on their coming with us? We can find those other Indians just as well without their aid.”
Natividad jumped. What kind of a man was this? Then his attention was suddenly drawn to the road again.
“There, over there! They camped there.”
At this point, the mountain path widened to a kind of little plateau, on which were unmistakable traces of a recently-pitched camp. The ashes of the fire had not yet been swept away by the wind, and remains of food littered one corner. Natividad, convinced that he had found the first resting-place of the escort of the Virgin of the Sun, urged on his party.