Three men came from within the inner cave. Carmelita lay back. The dim light showed two of them to be the Indians she had seen before, the third was Brown's employer. The Indians were plainly enraged. The other's manner was suave and appeasing. Their conversation was animated, but, for a time, no distinct word reached the girl. The heavy guttural voices of the natives contrasted strongly with the attempted soothing tones of the white man.
"Don't be skeered, miss," whispered Brown. "We won't let 'em tech ye."
"Your palaver is useless, Sir Englishman," one of the speakers said in a higher key than before. "Cash in the palm is your only argument with us." The tone was vibrant with passion. He huddled his blanket closely around his shoulders.
Word and manner of the white man were smooth as he said: "We must not discuss it here. Let us return to the inner chamber. Some further refreshment you need before going out into the storm. Let us further consider my offer privately. These señoras——"
"Huh!" interrupted the Indian. "I care nothing if Administrator Mendoza hears me, let alone a storm-driven señora or two. The refreshment you offer is our own cache. Remember, the offer that carries weight with us is, money down."
His fellow mumbled some word of assent.
The conversation was now plainly heard by the doña.
The dueña half awakened. "Are we nearly home?" sleepily. "That Luis is a poor driver."
She slept again.
"Old lady likely is riled about all this noise when she wants to sleep," Brown remarked.