“Do we walk as far as we ride?” Hal asked wearily.
Joaquim shook his head.
“Soon now,” he muttered. “Listen, Señor!”
A man’s voice cried out sharply and Joaquim answered him quickly. Hal could see no one, but presently a rather wretched-looking young man in tattered khaki emerged from between the trees. He glanced at the newcomers suspiciously.
“He want know who come here,” the Indian interpreted. “He want know what we have to show we come. I say letter from Señor Pemb.”
“Righto,” Hal said briskly, and took out his letters. The one addressed to General Ceara he gave to the sentry and the other he returned to his pocket.
The fellow looked at the address on the envelope, turned it every which way, then glanced at Hal suspiciously again. Finally he spoke to the Indian, talking for an interminable time. When he had finished Joaquim passed on the news.
“The General Ceara he is not here, but the sentry say come, it will be all right.”
“All right by me, Joaquim old boy. Where is Ceara—out to lunch?”
The Indian shrugged his shoulders and at a gesture from the sentry they fell into a march. Hal, for some reason, felt not so comfortable about having the fellow tramping at his back with a bayonet in position. But as Joaquim seemed not to mind this military formality, he made the best of it too.