"Americanos—and in the habit of friends? What means this?"
He spoke very good English. His eyes flashed, but his mustache lifted at the corners as though he laughed.
Marty was tongue-tied for the moment. The threatening aspect of the cavalcade and especially of Dario Gomez himself was too much for the nonchalance of the boy. Even the hidden weapon in his sash gave him no comfort, for these "forty thieves" were all armed to the teeth.
It was a difficult situation. Carlitos evidently had no help to offer. Indeed he seemed to feel no particular responsibility, though he was not closely associated with these lusty vagabonds.
"What means this masquerade, señor and señorita?" Dario Gomez repeated.
It was Janice who stepped into the breach—and stepped from the car as well. She approached the charger ridden by the bandit chief, putting aside the veil that had half hidden her face.
"Señor," she said earnestly, "will you not help me get to my father? The car has broken down and we are still a long way from San Cristoval—are we not, Carlitos?"
"Huh? By goodness, yes!" replied the amazed driver.
"My cousin and I," pursued Janice Day, "have come across the States to find my father—from far beyond Chicago—from beyond New York. I must find him quickly, sir. He is wounded—perhaps dying! Will you help me?"
"Who is your padre, señorita?" Dario Gomez asked. "How was he wounded?"