“But your son, he drove them off, eh?”
“Yes; he believed there was a lode somewhere here worth a fortune. But poor man, he gave his life for that illusion. My grandson and I have hunted the length and breadth of this clearing in vain.”
“Ah, but that is the way of life, eh, Señor? Now we must be going.”
“But did you come only to ask me about my poor lost son? Have you no message?” Old Marcellus asked anxiously.
“None, Señor. Perhaps when next I come. Adios!”
Hal waited to hear no more and scooted back to the shadow of his doorway. Soon he saw the dark figures of men emerging from Pemberton’s hut and he heard the soft whisper of voices. Old Marcellus he distinguished by his white, silvery hair, but the rest he could not make out. Besides, Joaquim’s squat body came wobbling up from the river and escorted the two short visitors back to the bank.
Hal was puzzled, yet he could not help feeling that there was something familiar looking about the pair. Certainly, somewhere he had heard the speaker’s voice inside the hut. That soft, slow purring....
CHAPTER XXVII
AND THEN....
Hal went back to his hammock without having come to any definite decision. After all, it was difficult to distinguish one’s voice through layers of mud and thatch, especially when one was talking at a low pitch.
The following day he had breakfast with Felice. Her grandfather, she explained, lay abed late because of his age. She seemed gay and carefree as she spoke and it was hard for Hal to believe that he had seen her so tense and weary only the night before.