As a result of the industriousness of the regulars, the dead and wounded were fast being removed from the valley. Those who still showed signs of life were carried to the toolhouse to be cared for by Phil and Lance. The dead men were carried into the forest to the west. This puzzled Jack for he could not understand why graves were not dug in the open. Indeed, he became so curious about the whole thing that he finally asked Lyman what the regulars did with the bodies.
“In Mexico,” explained Lyman, “they don’t bother to bury dead men after a battle. They merely gather them all in one pile, saturate them with kerosene and touch a match to them. You see, bodies must be removed quickly in the Tropics or serious disease will be spread immediately. The funeral pyre is the quickest and best method of avoiding this danger.”
“Goodness, but that’s a gruesome way of caring for the dead. But then, I suppose, it is best from a sanitary standpoint and it certainly is far better than leaving the remains for the vultures.”
“Si, señor, it es best zan ze vultures,” said some one in broken English, and Jack and Lyman turned to find Captain Alvarez, of the rurales, addressing them. “I hear your remarks what you say about dead mens and I agree. Fire es best zan ze vultures. Oh; ze vultures zay are ah—what you call—ah—higeous, eh!”
“Indeed they are hideous. They are the most repulsive creatures I have ever seen,” said Jack.
“Ah, you are right, Señor Jack, but it is not of vulture I wish to see you for. It is of my mans Alfonso Perro, the one wiz ze scar foot which is in ze guardhouse now. We mus give him ze court-martial soon and ze execution. Also his peon assistant must we shoot. Will you and Señor Ryder be ready for ze court zis evening?”
“I think so,” replied Jack. “I will be ready and I think Mr. Ryder will—”
“Who is that,” interrupted Lyman, pointing across the clearing in the direction of the trail that followed the transmission line.
Jack beheld a swarthy, long-haired individual clad only in white trousers running toward the power plant, a dog loping along at his heels. The man’s stride was long and regular, like that of an experienced distance runner, and the lad recognized him immediately as the Indian messenger.
“Why, it’s the runner. I saw him here at the plant only an hour ago. I wonder where he’s been? I’ll warrant he has word about Mr. Ryder.”