“Yes, sir, I did,” said the old man with some show of dignity.
“Then you can answer it.”
“Suppose I refuse?”
“That would be absurd. After all, I want to know only to help you and Miss Felice.”
“Something’s happened—something!” Felice gave a little cry. “What is it, Mr. Hal?”
“I hadn’t meant to tell you, but I suppose it’s the only way to do. After all, you know this country and I don’t. It’s simply this—not ten minutes ago while I was hidden in the bushes down at the river I overheard a conversation between that cat Goncalves and his boy friend, Pizella. It seems he has in his mind some plan to drive you people out of here. He said he felt that there was gold and he was going to get it.”
“Never; not over my dead body!” said Old Marcellus stiffening to his full height. “If there’s gold here, we’ll get it, not Carlo Goncalves!”
“I hope to tell you,” Hal agreed vehemently. “But to get to the bottom of this—what is it all about? I don’t mean to pry, but I want to help you people. I won’t stand by and see that little Brazil-nut misuse you!”
“He is a bad lot, Goncalves,” said Old Marcellus more to himself than to Hal. “And Pizella too.”
“I could have told you that weeks ago,” Hal said. “But evidently Goncalves got started when he heard your story from the captain of the boat. He was one of the listeners. He probably is one of those fools who thinks that all he has to do is to pull up at some river bank and he’ll find gold. Gold isn’t found as easily as that. Anyway, Mr. Pemberton, you people know him, huh? He’s on a friendly footing here?”