“I wonder what is wrong now,” exclaimed Jack, for the team had again stopped, though the wagon was not more than its length from the summit. To the drivers he shouted:
“Drive up a little further, so the wagon will stand without--”
Loud, angry cries stopped him in the midst of his speech.
Anxious to know what had caused another interruption in the advance, he hurried forward, to meet a most unexpected sight.
Drawn up in front of the team in the narrow path was a squad of Chilian soldiers, or bushwhackers, more properly speaking, for he knew they did not belong to the regular army.
The Peruvians were cowering by the side of the wagon and cattle, muttering over something in their native tongue which our hero did not understand.
“Ho, there, soldiers!” he called out, in his best Spanish, “what does this mean?”
“It means if you don’t get out of our path, Americanos, we will hew you down!”
“Don’t be too fast, señor captain,” Jack made bold to say, “this path is one of my own making, though if you will allow me to get my team to the--”
“Pitiful dog!” cried the Chilian, “Captain de Costa commands you to clear his way without any insulting words.”