“I say,” he cried, “why didn’t my father send you back along with the llama train? I never thought of that before.”
“Are you in such a hurry to get rid of me?” said Cyril bitterly.
“No, of course not; but as he said he should send you home by the first, I thought it strange that he had not done so.”
“Because they were not going to San Geronimo,” said Cyril quietly. “They would turn off to the north, just where I first joined you, and I suppose he thought, after what I had suffered, it would be too cruel to send me to find a great deal of my way back with people like that.”
They relapsed into silence for a time, during which period John Manning cleared away and washed up as methodically as if he were at home, while the two Indians sat by the fire munching away at the supply of biscuit given to them.
“What are you thinking about, Perry?” said Cyril at last.
“The stars. How big and bright they are up here. What were you thinking about?”
“Diego, our guide.”
“What about him?—that he ought to be fonder of water, even if it is icily-cold?”
“No,” said Cyril seriously. “I want to know why he has turned so quiet and serious, and why he seems to be always watching your father in such a peculiar way.”