“Ah, such a pleasure, Señor Hal!” he purred softly. “To whom do I owe it on this my first audience as Coronel of the revolutionary forces?”
Hal sent down his most brilliant smile in return.
“You don’t owe it to me, Goncalves,” he said with an uproarious laugh. “You owe it to Mr. Pemberton. I came to save him and his daughter the fatigue of a journey.”
“I remember you were kind, Señor Hal.”
“Never mind all the apple-sauce, fellow. Joaquim and I are in a hurry. My letter is for General Ceara.”
“Por Deus!” said Goncalves with a mournful face. “You are but too late, Señor Hal. General Ceara has died with the fever.”
Hal looked straight down into the little man’s snapping eyes, and they wavered before his own steady gaze. Goncalves was lying, he knew.
“I don’t believe anything of the kind, Goncalves,” Hal said with startling frankness. “But, nevertheless, I can tell you what we want. Renan! His grandfather and sister are worried sick about him. Now don’t lie about that, fellow—you can’t put anything over on me like lies—I can read them in those soul reflectors of yours. And, man, they don’t add to your charms any, believe me.” He laughed mockingly. “Now do I hear where Renan is or not?”
“You shall see him, Señor. Si. In a moment, eh? Just I want to ask you how is the fine old Señor Marcellus, eh? And the what-you-call stuck up Felice—no? Ah, she hate me. But the Coronel Goncalves does not care, Señor Hal. I get back. Si. While you and the Señor Renan are safe under guard, some Pallidas shall steal down upon the Pemberton granddaughter and her grandfather—no? I shall make it so. Si. The Pallidas they hate the Pemberton for taking their settlement from them. They think the family have evil spirits because the señorita’s father dig a mine, eh? They want ver’ much to rid their tribe of evil spirits, these Pallidas, and to kill the Pembertons they think will bring them luck.”
“You’re an idiot to even say such things,” Hal shouted. “Your mind must be all cut up, isn’t it? Who ever gave you charge of a lot of normal men anyway? An idiot bossing sane men. Well, let me tell you, Goncalves—you lay a finger on that girl or her grandfather and your days are numbered. They’re numbered anyway, as a matter of fact. Unk must be on your trail good and plenty by now ... when you think you’re fooling a Yank like Unk, you’ve got to go some!”