“Do you think this thing is all straight and above board, Sam?” asked my friend.
“Of course, Archie. He’s a lieutenant in the United States navy, and has a regular leave of absence. He joined us with the approval and good will of his commander.”
“I know; but it seems queer, somehow. Take that copper-faced fellow, for instance, who looks more like a king than a servant; what has Allerton got such a body guard as that for? I never knew any other naval officer to have the like. And three months’ leave—on private business. Suff’rin’ Pete! what’s that for?”
“You might ask the lieutenant,” I replied, indifferently.
“Then there’s the boxes; solid redwood and clamped with brass; seven of ’em! What’s in ’em, Sam, do you suppose?”
“Archie boy, you’re getting unduly suspicious. And you’re minding some one else’s business. Get the quoits and I’ll toss a game with you.”
Our passenger was very quiet during the following day or two. He neither intruded nor secluded himself, but met us frankly when we were thrown together, listened carefully to our general conversation, and refrained from taking part in it more than politeness required.
Joe thought the young fellow seemed thoughtful and ill at ease, and confided to me that he had noticed Allerton now made more of a companion of the Maya than a dependant, although the man, for his part, never abated his deferent respect. Chaka seemed to regard Allerton with the love and fidelity of a dog for its master; yet if any of the sailors, or even Nux or Bryonia, spoke to the Indian with undue familiarity Chaka would draw himself up proudly and assume the pose of a superior.
We were much interested in the personality of these two unusual personages—that is, Joe, Archie and I were—and we often discussed them among ourselves. We three boys, being chums of long standing, were much together and had come to understand one another pretty well. We all liked Paul Allerton, for there was something winning in his personality. As for the Indian, Chaka, he did not repel us as much as he interested and fascinated us. One night big Bry, whom we admitted to perfect familiarity because of his long service, said to us:
“That Maya no common Injun, Mars’ Sam, yo’ take my word. He say his country Yucatan, an’ that place Yucatan don’ mean nuthin’ to me, nohow, ’cause I never been there. But, wherever it is, Chaka’s people mus’ be good people, an’ Chaka hisself never had any other marsa than Mars’ Allerton.”