“Too right,” Hal answered thoughtfully. “I can’t seem to gather my wits together and remember how it all happened.”
“That is because the Pallida Mors she is swift, Señor Hal. Like that she grabs and then we look—no more! The Indian he say she wants all the time death. So many drown in her, Señor. She look like death—no? She pale for rushing river.”
“She is pale,” Hal agreed. Even in the darkness her pallid yellowish waters gleamed eerily. He shuddered and turned his broad back upon the stream. “This pale death business is getting on my nerves, anyway.”
CHAPTER XXXI
A DECISION
After a long, solemn conference in the Pemberton hut next morning, it was decided that Goncalves had been effectually squelched by the ruse which Hal had so cleverly executed. None of them anticipated a return visit from the Brazilian with such a purpose in mind. Old Marcellus felt confident that they were safe from like marauders.
“But it’s time we heard from Rene,” said the old man. “Besides, somebody ought to put word in General Ceara’s ear about Señor Goncalves.”
“How about me going?” Hal asked more in fun than anything. “I’m sure Ceara would receive me as a representative of the Pemberton family, wouldn’t he?”
“I don’t know why he wouldn’t,” Felice said, pursing her full red lips thoughtfully. “Grandfather couldn’t stand the journey, even if it is only a five-hour paddle, and Joaquim couldn’t satisfactorily interpret a message. I’m out of the question in a revolutionary camp, so you are the only solution. Joaquim can go with you, Mr. Hal. If you start now you’ll be back tonight before midnight.”
“Suits me,” Hal said gaily. “I’ll be tickled pink to pike a revolutionary camp. Only you’re sure they won’t nab me in, huh?”
“General Ceara’s a very just man, Hal,” Old Marcellus assured him. “I shall give you a letter of introduction to him, telling him that I can vouch for your secrecy.”