“Yes, unless some other house is handy, and others there.”
“There is a house not far away, but it is empty.”
“Then let us go to it. It will be better to remain there than to stay in the open.”
They went up the trail a short distance, and then turned to the southward and took to a side road leading through a patch of high brushwood. Crossing a tiny mountain torrent, they came in sight of a dilapidated house, one end of which was all but wrecked. To the surprise of both Jack and his guide, smoke was issuing from behind the structure.
“Somebody must be here after all,” said the youth, as he rode forward.
“It must be a stranger, señor,” was the native’s reply.
Not to fall into the hands of enemies Jack advanced with caution. As he rounded the end of the dilapidated house, he saw a bright fire burning among some piled-up stones. In front of this fire a tall young man, dressed in rags, was crouching, cooking something in a battered pan. As Jack came closer the young man suddenly leaped to his feet, uttering a cry of alarm. Then he gave another cry, and dropping the pan with its contents to the ground, he rushed forward with wide-stretched arms yelling at the top of his voice.
“Jack! Jack! It is really my own Jack! Oh, how glad I am to see yeou!”