"Now, Christobal, that motor
trip in June through the Pyrenees looks feasible once more. And you,
Miss Maxwell, though you have never quailed for an instant, can hope to
be in England in the spring. As for you, Tollemache, surely you will
say that our prospects are 'fair,' at the least."
"I would say more than that if it were not for these poisonous
Indians," replied Tollemache. "Here they come now, a whole canoe load
of 'em. I have never seen such rotters."
And, indeed, Francisco Suarez, detailed to keep watch and ward over the
ship until noon, ran up the companion and cried excitedly:
"Four head men have just put off from Otter Creek. They have missed
me, I expect. They will want me to go back. I beseech you, senor
captain, not to give me up to them, but rather to send a bullet through
my miserable heart."
"Tell him to calm himself," said Courtenay, coolly, when Christobal had
translated this flow of guttural Spanish. "He has no cause to fear
them now; let him nerve himself, and show a bold front. A palaver is
the best thing that can happen. We must display all the arms we
possess.
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