Only the fact that he had nothing on his feet but the pair of old slippers that probably belonged to Mala made him doubt the desirability of such a proceeding.
“It is the order of Prince Miguel—who, at the council to-morrow, will be chosen by the people to rule them—that Prince Marcos shall remain in the mountains with you until he sends for him,” continued Jason.
“Good! It shall be done,” grunted the chieftain. “Prince Miguel is my friend. Tell him he has the word of Gaspara.”
The big man slapped himself on his broad chest as he uttered this last name, and Nick would have known from that action, if nothing else, that he was the Gaspara referred to.
“You will not let him escape?” asked Jason, as a sly expression of cunning passed over his humid countenance.
“Gaspara’s prisoners never escape,” was the reply.
“Then I will go,” went on Jason. “I have to report to his highness that you will do what he asks. The clothes of the prisoner are in the car. Will you send one of your men with me to bring them?”
Gaspara motioned to a man who had been standing in the background with two others, and the fellow followed Jason out of the cave.
Nick Carter had been counting the men, and he had found that, including Gaspara—whom his men addressed as El Capitaine—there were eight.
The detective had heard of the Gaspara band of mountain robbers, who infested this part of the country, but never had come across them before.