“Has Don Ramon come?”
“No. There’s not a soul in sight. I can’t see any signs of a fight, but it looks to me as if the enemy had been destroying all they came across. I hope they didn’t come upon him and take him prisoner, but it looks very bad.”
“What shall you do, father?”
“What he told me, my boy: take possession, and hold it if the enemy come back. I have told the men to try and knock up a breastwork and close up the windows. To put it into a state of defence is not possible, but they can make it look stronger, and it will be better than the open jungle if those mongrel scoundrels do come on. Winks is there with half-a-dozen men; join them and superintend. Make them stick to it hard. I am afraid of their thinking that there is no danger, and taking it too coolly.”
“All right, father,” said Poole, giving Fitz a glance as he stood ready for starting off.
“Oh, by the way, Mr Burnett, I am sorry to have got you into this trouble. It doesn’t seem the thing, does it? But I can’t help myself. I daren’t let you get into the hands of the enemy, for they are a shady lot. Only please mind this; you are a looker-on, and you are not to fight.”
“Of course not, sir,” cried Fitz.
“Well, don’t forget it. Let’s have none of your getting excited and joining in, if the row does begin. But it’s hardly likely. If the scoundrels see a strong-looking place they will give it a wide berth. But if they do come, just bear this in mind; you are a spectator, and not to fire a shot.”
“I shall not forget my position, sir,” said Fitz quietly. “That’s right. You can’t be in a safer place than in the shelter of Ramon’s farm. Off with you, Poole. I will join you soon.”
The two lads trotted off, and as they ran on side by side, Fitz said rather testily—