The girl pointed silently through the gloom.
"Yonder," she whispered.
Strawbridge turned, half expecting to see the little monkey-eyed clerk behind him. But the piazza was deserted, and he saw nothing more than the low, heavy walls of the fort against the last umber light in the east.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean ... the prison, señor."
A cold trickle went over the drummer.
"You don't mean that little clerk's in prison?"
"Sí, señor."
The drummer stared at her.
"For God's sake, why? What did he do?"