“I know, without asking, sir,” said Cyril eagerly. “They’re bringing down Quinquina—kina, as they call it. You know, sir—bark.”
“Hah!” ejaculated the colonel eagerly, and he took out the little double glass he carried to examine the train of animals, which had evidently come from the track that they were to pursue after their halt.
“You’re wrong, I think, my lad,” said the colonel, after a long examination through his glass. “They have all got bales of something on their backs, and, judging from the outside, I think they are skins or hides.”
“Yes, sir, that’s right,” cried Cyril, “but it is bark inside. They make the bark up into bales, and cover them with hides before binding them up. I know; I’ve seen them before.”
The colonel continued his inspection, and Cyril hurriedly questioned the guide before speaking to the former again.
“He says they are taking the kina down to the port, and that they will halt here to rest.”
“Then we’ll stay a little longer and see them,” said the colonel, closing his glass after seeing several armed men turn the corner and begin to climb beside the llamas over the rugged stones.