It was decided, after a hasty consultation, that they would start for La Merced that night as soon as it was dark. Ben Stubbs and Billy were to be left to guard the camp. Billy remarking:
“I’ll be glad to get a rest. If we are asleep when you come back, tell the maid to wake us.”
“And to think that a few nights ago I was a watching yer camp-fire and ringing the bell and—now—here I am!” remarked Ben wonderingly.
The afternoon was spent in examining the rubies and talking over experiences. Frank, too, drew a rough map of the mines, so that when it became feasible to return to and ransack them of the treasure the process would be simplified. While the boys employed themselves in this way, Ben Stubbs borrowed a rifle and strode off into the jungle. He returned shortly before dark with a young wild pig and several brace of wood pigeons. He prepared these with a skill that bespoke his long experience at shifting for himself and when he announced that supper was ready by pounding on the bottom of a saucepan with a spoon, the boys were ready to fall to and eat the meal of their lives.
They were just concluding the meal when there was a low, far off rumble—like that of an approaching thunder storm. It was deeper, however, and longer sustained.
“There’s a storm coming,” exclaimed Frank and Harry simultaneously.
Ben Stubbs gravely set down his coffee and shook his head.
“Worse’n that, I’m afraid. Sounds to me like the first symptoms of what the greasers call ‘terremoto.’”
“What’s that?” demanded Billy.
“Why, that’s an airthquake,” replied Ben, “and every once in a while when they do come, they raise par’ticlar dickens. Ef you two young fellers is thinking of making a trip in that thar sky-jammer of yours to-night, you’d better get a move on with your start,” he went on, addressing Frank and Harry, “fer when thar comes an airthquake thar comes an almighty big wind right on its heels.”