“Yes?” said Professor Kent interrogatively.
“One certainly wouldn’t think——”
“What?”
“That all this still makes me think of the dangers one runs when staying near a sleeping volcano.”
CHAPTER IX
A LONE HORSEMAN
Early next afternoon a lone horseman rode slowly into the plaza. Both the appearance of horse and rider gave evidence of a long hard journey. The man’s sunburned face, shadowed by the broad brim of his sombrero, looked lined and haggard; his clothes, too, were torn and dusty.
The animal’s shaggy body was steaming, while his slow, spiritless movements and dejected mien showed plainly that food, water, and rest were urgently needed.
“Hello!” exclaimed Tom, with the others standing on the veranda. “What’s that?”
“Forsooth—if I mistake not a man—a horse,” laughed Cranny.
“And, by Jove, best of all, an American!” cried Bob Somers, who had been gazing intently toward the approaching rider. One good look at the man’s clean-cut features convinced the others that Bob was right. They observed something else, too; he held the reins in his left hand; the other was swathed in bandages.