At breakfast Uncle Naboth suddenly abandoned all pretense of reserve.
“This is the San Maladrino river,” he asserted.
We all nodded, our faces serious and attentive.
“Of course,” said I. “He returned the same way he entered the San Blas country, and we found him floating on this very stream.”
No one cared to discuss a proposition so very evident, and having hurriedly finished the meal we assembled on deck to resume the conversation.
“Gentlemen,” said Moit, “you have all arrived at some conclusion, I am sure. Let us exchange ideas, and discuss their various merits.”
I asked Ned Britton to speak first.
“Well,” said he, “it wouldn’t be right or proper for us to leave them two or three quarts o’ di’monds to rust under that stump. I notice the book says these Injuns don’t have firearms; but we’ve got a plenty, so I perpose as we march in, pepper ’em good if they show fight, an’ then march out agin with the di’monds. I believe if we put up a good front there’s enough of us to do the job.”
“Especially as a company of carefully drilled soldiers got wiped off the earth,” I remarked somewhat sarcastically.
“Colombian sodgers don’t count,” said Ned. “Our men is the right stuff ’cause they’re all Americans.”