"You might carry away the table silver," replied Hemming, "but there is no money. That has all gone to the coast. No doubt the house and furniture, and even the forks and spoons, belong by now to the Brazilian government. It would be foolish of you to damage government property for the sake of a few pounds. It would mean trouble, my friend."
The colonel sagged in his saddle like a bag of meal.
"I cannot argue," he said, listlessly. "It is too hot to talk. My head aches—the devil take it. You should not have sent the money."
"A touch of sun," suggested Hemming.
The fat Brazilian looked at the blue sky through bloodshot, half-closed eyes.
"The sun," he said, "why, yes, the sun. Damn the sun."
He swayed for a moment, and then slid in a heap to the ground. His men had been watching him, and now two of them ran forward and carried the yielding, flabby body to the nearest fountain.
"Sun and whiskey," commented Hemming. Then he returned to his bedroom and commenced to shave.
By this time the little garrison was astir. Hicks, with a sandwich in one hand and his rifle in the other, opened the shutters of one of the lower windows and looked out. Not ten feet away stood a man in a blue cotton shirt, and dirty canvas trousers. The blotchy, grinning face and bowed legs struck him with an unpleasant sense of familiarity.
"Hello, mister," said the stranger. "I'd like to 'ave a word wid one of you gents."