CHAPTER XXVII

AND THEN....

Hal went back to his hammock without having come to any definite decision. After all, it was difficult to distinguish one’s voice through layers of mud and thatch, especially when one was talking at a low pitch.

The following day he had breakfast with Felice. Her grandfather, she explained, lay abed late because of his age. She seemed gay and carefree as she spoke and it was hard for Hal to believe that he had seen her so tense and weary only the night before.

He rested some during the day, took a stroll along the river bank with Felice, and fished the rest of the day. Old Marcellus kept much to himself and seemed rather taciturn when spoken to. At dinner that evening, he did not appear.

“Grandfather is worrying about my brother, Rene,” said Felice.

Hal looked across the table and smiled comfortingly.

“Aw, I guess he can take care of himself, huh? I’ll admit I was worried too, but since I know he’s your brother and have heard what a ‘rep’ he’s got, I have the idea that he can take care of himself.”

“I know he can take care of himself,” Felice said thoughtfully, “but we aren’t always the master of a situation. Rene is sometimes headstrong.”

“Gol darn it,” Hal said, noticing the sadness in her gray eyes, “I do believe you’re worried about him.”

“I really am, Mr. Hal. You see he’s never kept us waiting so long. He’s always so concerned about Grandfather and me. Really he’s been all that’s helped me to bear this lonely existence. I couldn’t bear anything to happen to him.”

“But my goodness, Miss Felice, I’m certain nothing has happened to him if he’s such a roamer as you’ve told me! Please don’t worry! If there’s anything I can do....”

“You liked him, didn’t you, Mr. Hal?” she asked suddenly.

“I’ll say I did,” Hal answered readily. “I thought he was one swell chap. Man, he’s the kind I like—you know, plain but not stupid.”

Felice seemed relieved. She smiled sweetly and freely then.

“I thought that a nice person like you couldn’t help liking Rene. You’re so much alike—loyal.”

“Thanks, Miss Felice. I’ll always try to live up to that reputation.”

“Is it a promise?” she asked eagerly.

“Cross my heart and hope to die!”

They were gay after that and strolled about the clearing in the moonlight before they said goodnight. Hal walked on air to his little hut and was so thoughtful that he climbed into his hammock with his clothes on.

But it was just as well, for he hadn’t any desire to sleep and was up again in a few moments. How could he sleep when a lovely girl like Felice exacted a promise from him to be loyal? He’d be loyal to her whole family just to see her smile!

Suddenly it occurred to him that her request for his loyalty was not only meaningless but odd. What did she want him to be loyal to? To whom? He felt silly when he thought that he had made a promise when he didn’t know what it was all about. Still, he could stand feeling silly where Felice was concerned.

He stamped out a half-smoked cigarette and walked out into the clearing. It was a lovely night, breathless and clear, with just enough moon for shadow. Before he realized it, he was down at the river, gazing dreamily at the swiftly moving water.

Suddenly he heard the unmistakable sound of a canoe paddling toward him. Instinctively, he drew back under the tree, barely escaped stepping on a peacefully sleeping snake, and in trying to sidestep it, he slipped and rolled down the bank into some thick bushes. And there he stayed.

The canoe had already come into view and the bent forms of the two paddlers were directing its course toward the bank. Straight to the settlement it glided, like some long, graceful snake.

Hal held his breath as it pushed into the bank. He dared not stir the bushes for so much as a peek then. They were too close at hand. But then he had no need to see, for they started to speak and he could listen.

They talked in Portuguese, however, speaking in soft tones. Both voices struck Hal immediately as being familiar—the one especially so. But still he dared not stir, for he knew that they had not gotten out of the canoe. Then after a moment of silence, the familiar voice spoke in English.

“There is gold here—I feel it,” it whispered. “We must get these Pembertons away—no? It would be ver’ easy. The _Pallidas_, they perhaps kill Señor Pemberton, Junior. Why not make it look as if they do it again, eh? Why not, Pizella?”

“Si, Señor,” came the answer. “Why not so?”