Here, amid the great green fronds of a banana plantation, we found a wretched hovel, with a woman in charge.
Hildegarde was worn out—she only wanted to get a cup of coffee and eat a ripe banana, when, dropping upon a home-made cane chair, she fell into the sleep of exhaustion.
I was ready to give in, too, but first I wished to talk with the men, interest them in the fate of my comrades, and promise a reward if they brought any of the poor fellows, dead or alive, to the cabin, the price to be doubled if they lived.
They were profuse in their manifestations of almost servile willingness to carry out my ideas, and hurried away toward the beach.
Alas! I did not know the treacherous character of these miserable half-breeds, who unite the very worst qualities of the two races they represent.
So I, too, settled myself in a chair, utterly tired out. I must have slept for hours, not knowing the passage of time, nor do I believe I dreamed, such was the heaviness of my slumber.
Then suddenly I awoke; some one was shaking me. I opened my eyes in amazement, unable to immediately comprehend what it all meant, for the wretched little cabin was swarming with the gayly garbed soldiers of Bolivar’s brave army, and directly in front of me I saw one whom I had very good cause to wish at the other side of the world—in Bombay or Cape Town, or even Cathay; anywhere but here, in fact, for in this stout person I recognized the awful alcalde, or mayor of Bolivar.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE HOSPITALITY OF THE ALCALDE.
We were entrapped without a doubt.