Up the Forked River: or, Adventures in South America. Ellis Edward Sylvester

little craft was fairly under way, and with favoring wind and current, ought to reach Zalapata in the course of ten or twelve hours. Martella, the new recruit, so to speak, seeing there was nothing just then for him to do, sat down at the bow of the boat and smoked his cigarette, while Captain Guzman kept company with Major Starland at the stern.

      “Two years ago, when there was war between Atlamalco and Zalapata,” explained the native officer, “we captured a party of raiders in the mountains and shot them all excepting one. He was Martella, who, being wounded, was saved at my prayer. Since then we have been friends.”

      “He ought to be your life friend if there is any such thing as gratitude in his nature.”

      “I have been to see him and he comes to see me. Martella is one who speaks the truth.”

      “I was not aware that – barring yourself – there was any man in this part of the world who had that virtue.”

      “What did President Yozarro tell you?” asked the Captain so bluntly that the American resented it.

      “You have no warrant for asking that question.”

      “Pardon me, Major; I do not ask to know what he said about the claim of President Bambos, for I already know that.”

      “You do! Well, what was it?”

      “He said he would pay the amount of the claim and asked you to tell President Bambos he is very sorry.”

      “You are right; that is what he said.”

      “But he did not pay you the money; and, begging pardon again, Major, you intended to pay it yourself to President Bambos, as if it came from General Yozarro.”

      “You would be called a mind reader, Captain, in my country, for you are right in everything you say. It will spoil his game, however, if General Bambos is as keen as you.”