«Forty ten, fifty ten, perhaps,» said Brazo Largo, from which the Captain adduced that he meant four or five hundred.
He questioned him closely as to the nature of the country they would have to cross and the fortifications defending Santa Maria. Brazo Largo put everything in the most favourable light, smoothed away all difficulties, and promised not only himself to guide them, but to provide bearers to convey their gear. And all the time, with gleaming, anxious eyes, he kept repeating to Captain Blood:
«Much gold. Much Spanish gold. Caramba!»
So often did he repeat this parrot–cry, and with such obvious intent to allure, that Blood began to ask himself did not this Indian protest too vehemently for utter honesty.
Pondering him, the Captain voiced his suspicion in a question.
«You are very eager that we should go, my friend?»
«Go. Yes. Go you,» the Indian answered. «Spaniards love gold. Guanahani no love Spaniards.»
«So that you want to spite them? Indeed, you seem to hate them very bitterly.»
«Hate!» said Brazo Largo. His lips writhed, and he made guttural noises of emphatic affirmation. «Huh! Huh!»
«Well, well, I must consider.»