Curlie looked at Dot. Dot looked at her aged servant. Then, without a word they walked out of the gate bound for the hills, the three of them, ready to follow the sound of the drums, ready for any peril or adventure to which this might lead.
It was strange, this marching up a little known trail in the night, following the sound of the drum that grew louder, ever louder as they advanced.
The night was strange too. The moist air laden with the odor of blossoms and tropical spices was a constant delight. The stars shone as no stars had ever shone before. Here some creeping thing set the dry leaves rustling, there a strange bird piped his shrill night tune.
The trail was steep. As they paused beside a massive rock a breath of wind came sweeping up from the sea to fan their cheeks. Then, quite unexpectedly Dot’s heart gave a leap. From up the trail came a sound as of a host rushing through the brush.
“Oh—Ah!” she whispered sibilantly, gripping Curlie’s arm and backing into the brush.
Curlie began to laugh. “Do you not recognize the sound?” he asked. “It’s only a ‘chattering woman’.”
“O, yes, so it is a ‘chattering woman’. How stupid of me to get all excited,” she exclaimed as she stared away in the direction of the curious tree.
Dot told herself that she must get better control of her nerves if she was to be of any service on this strange enterprise.
“Listen! The dance grows wilder,” she said. “If we are to learn anything, be of any service, we must hurry.”
“You see,” she explained as they moved steadily up the trail, “the United States Government is doing all it can for this republic, especially for the common people, who most of all appreciate and deserve it.