“Claude, see that she comes; we will find a carriage outside, perhaps.”
“Oh, I’ll get one for you, boys,” cheerfully declares the young roysterer, as he endeavors to walk a straight line to the exit.
With a strange feeling thrilling him through and through Aleck bends down and takes the young girl in his arms. She is not entirely senseless, for though her head droops upon his shoulder, he hears a fluttering breath and the words:
“Oh, my father!”
Reverently he raises his burden.
“Make way, friends,” he says to those in front, and the crowd parts before him. They have by this time managed to get an inkling of the truth through their heads, and between the dark-skinned Turk and the frank-faced Canadian their sympathies are wholly with the latter.
Strange to say, no Columbian guard has put in an appearance during the extraordinary fracas. They were everywhere when not wanted.
The exit is close at hand, and as they pass through Aleck sees a figure with waving arms, a figure he has no trouble in recognizing as their quondam partner in the late deal.
“This way! here’s your coach; step up lively now, gentlemen. We’re off over the divide.”
His incoherent jumble is enough to attract Aleck’s attention to the carriage, and he carefully deposits his burden inside.