“Lock the door––there is but one key. Also the other men are not sleeping inside the portal. It is by order of General Rotil.”
Perez awoke to glare at his false major-domo, but uttered no words. He had not even attempted conversation with Kit since the evening before when he stated that no Americano could fool him, and added his conviction that the said Americano was a secret service man of the states after the guns, and that Rotil was a fool!
Kit found Rotil resting in the chapel, looking fagged and spent.
“Marto is hell for work, and I had to stay by,” he grumbled with a grin. “Almost I sent for you. No other man knows, and behold!”
Stacked on either side were packing cases of rifles and ammunition, dozens and dozens of them. The dusty canvas was back in its place and no sign to indicate where the cases had come from.
“It is a great treasure chest, that,” stated Rotil, “and we have here as much as the mules can carry, for the wagons can’t go with us. But I want every case of this outside the portal before dawn comes, and it comes quick! It means work and there are only three of us, and this limp of mine’s a trouble.”
“Well,” said Kit, stripping off his coat, “if the two of you got them up a ladder inside, and down the steps to this point I reckon three of us can get them across that little level on record time. Say, your crew will think it magic when guns and ammunition are let fall for you by angels outside of the gate.”
“The thought will do no harm,” said Rotil. “Also I am not sure but that you speak true, and the magic was much needed when it came.”
They worked fast, and ere the first hint of dawn the cases were stacked in imposing array on the plaza. And no sign by which they could be traced. Rotil looked at them, and chuckled at the wonder the men would feel.
“It is time they were called, for it is a long trail, go you, Capitan, and waken them, tell them to get ready the pack mules and get a move.”