“Yes, yes, señor,” gasped the man at last, just when the two lads had grasped hands, each to deliver a speaking pressure to the other.
“Tell me, then. Why were you coming here?”
“Because I believed that Don Ramon was here.”
“Do you know Don Ramon?”
“Yes, señor; he is an old friend.”
“We can soon prove that,” said the skipper. “Here, Poole, the Don is lying down asleep, utterly worn out, but he must be awakened to see his friend,” he added meaningly.
Poole gripped Fitz’s hand tightly, as if to say, Come with me; and the two lads hurried off to where the Don was lying asleep, guarded by four of his men, under the shelter of a shed.
“I hope to goodness,” whispered Poole, “that the poor fellow’s told the truth.”
“Your father wouldn’t have him shot if he had not, surely?”
Poole was silent for a few moments.