“Whose orders?”
“Lieut. Col. Goethals and the U. S. Government.”
“Curse them both,” ground out the stranger angrily. The operator jumped to his feet.
“See here, friend,” he said, “I’m an American and I think Goethals is a mighty fine man, too. See the point? There’s the door. Now get! I’m blamed sorry I lent you those batteries, but I’d rather you didn’t return them than come back.”
Without a word the man turned and half slunk out of the door. As he passed close by Merritt, the Boy Scout heard him mutter:
“Yes, and you and all Yankees will be sorrier yet before morning.”
Merritt looked around. There was an open door behind him. Quick as a flash he slipped through it and the next moment was following the man through a clump of bananas that grew on each side of the road. Dodging among the broad leaves Merritt kept his quarry in sight and stuck close to his heels. The man walked on and then suddenly turned aside from the main road that led back to the “gold-men’s” quarters and headed down into a sort of wild gully running to the river.
With Merritt close on his heels and blessing the shrubs that grew at the path-side, the man, quite unconscious that anyone was on his tracks, kept on. At length he came to a more or less tumble-down hut not far from the river bank.
He paused here a minute and gave three low whistles. In response out came an old negro.
“Dis funny time ob night to call?” said the old darky questioningly.