"It has been up seven hours," replied Arenberg.
"Then we're that much ahead," said Bill Breakstone calmly, "and at least one of those two has needed it badly."
He looked at the sleeping brothers.
"It iss so," said Arenberg. "The captive who iss a captive no longer iss, I take it, a good youth, like his brother."
"He surely is," said Breakstone with emphasis, "and I have given him the honor of knighthood, along with Phil. Besides, he's as smart as a steel trap. He read the meaning of the thread that we sent him, and he did everything else exactly as we wished. It's all the more wonderful because so long a time in prison is apt to make one dull and stupid in some ways. Anything happen on your long watch, Hans?"
"Nothing. I made a scout all the way up the cove. I am sure there iss no human being except ourselves on this mountain."
"I move that we boil a little coffee and fry a little venison for the youngsters. John, in particular, needs it, because he's got to be built up. I don't think there's any danger."
"Then we'll light the fire and let the cooking wake them up."
John Bedford, in a dream, as it were, felt a delicious aroma in his nostrils. It was singularly pleasant to a poor prisoner in a bleak stone cell in the Castle of Montevideo, and he did not wish to destroy the illusion. In the early morning the air that came through the loophole was very cold, and there was no reason why he should rise. Perhaps he was really dreaming, and, since it was such a pleasant dream, he would let it run on. But that odor in his nostrils grew more and more powerful, and it was not like the odor of the frijoles and tortillas that Diego brought him. He also heard, or thought he heard, the voices of men, and not one of them bore any resemblance to the harsh Mexican tones of Diego. Then he remembered it all, and the truth came in such a sudden flood of delight that he sat up abruptly and looked around that wonderful cabin, the finest cabin in the world.
Arenberg had just brought the coffee to a boiling point, the strips of venison, under the deft handling of Bill Breakstone, were just becoming crisp. Phil was coming in with a canteen of fresh water, and at the wide-open door, through which he might pass as he pleased, the sunshine was entering like a golden shower.