"How are you, Chief?" Will called through the window.
"It's the boy!" cried Mr. Jackson. "It's all right, O'Connor. Come in, Pentelow; you'll find the door open. Who've you got with you?"
"Colonel Blanco, of the State army."
He entered the house with Ruggles and the Colonel.
"You don't look much like prisoners," said Will, laughing.
"Prisoners? We're gentlemen at large. We've heard all about it. A messenger came up the day after the General disappeared, and we guessed you were at the bottom of it. These gentlemen here offered to escort us to Bolivar, but it's two hundred miles and a trying journey; and as we're living on the fat of the land and having a better time than we've had for months, we decided to stay here until we got word of you."
"But I don't understand," said Will. "Aren't these gentlemen revolutionists?"
"No longer, my boy. They threw over the General at once, and are now the loyalest citizens of the Republic. That's revolution in Venezuela."
Colonel Blanco was chatting very amiably to the Venezuelans. It was all very amazing to Will, whose knowledge of the revolutions of history included recollections of bitter enmity, murderous passions, proscriptions, massacres.
He told the whole story, to which his friends listened with as much amusement as surprise. O'Connor sighed because he had not been with Will in the race with the train, but the Chief looked grave when he heard of the smash on the line.