THE WAYSIDE INN.
"Well, well, boys, where have ye been? We've been a-huntin' high an' low
fer ye!"
And so speaking, old Jacob rushed up to them, followed by all the
others.
Dick told their story, to which the remainder of the party listened with
close attention.
"It's lucky the Caribs came up," was Robert Menden's comment. "But they
made you pay dearly for their services."
"It was downright robbery!" burst out the old Yankee tar. "If I run
across 'em, I'll make 'em give up nine dollars o' the money, sure; mark
my words on't!"
"Well, I'm mighty glad we are out of it," said Leander. "I wouldn't want
to spend a night down in that hole for twice ten dollars."
"Nor I," added Dick. "Next time I'll be sure where I am stepping."
They continued on their way until five o'clock, when it began to rain.
"No use of getting wet," declared Robert Menden. "I move we seek shelter
for the night."
This was agreed to, and they hurried on to where there stood a sort of
wayside inn—a rambling, two-story affair, built of rough stone and
whitewashed.
A tall and not overly-pleasant looking Spaniard received them, and soon
Dick had arranged for supper, lodging and breakfast for the entire
party.
The wayside inn was almost deserted, only the proprietor, his wife and a
negro servant being present.
They were shown to two rooms in the second story—low apartments, but
well ventilated—and here their host left them, stating that supper would
be ready at seven o'clock.
The boys surveyed the apartments with interest. Each room was perfectly
square, with its floor covered with a rough matting of sea-grass. The
walls were bare, saving for one or two religious pictures miserably
executed. The beds were old-fashioned "four-posters," covered with straw
ticks and plain white sheets, nothing more.
"They don't need blankets," observed old Jacob. "A man can keep warm
without half tryin'. Thet's why the windows ain't got no glass in 'em,
an' there ain't no stoves around."
The rain continued to come down steadily, so that they could not roam
about the place. After a general washing up, they went below, to find
their host, Jose Maguel, snoring lustily in an easy-chair in the parlor.
"Half-past six," said Menden, looking at his watch. "I wonder what they
will give us for supper?"
"He promised us chicken," answered Dick. "But it ought to be cooking by
this time."
He walked through the dining-room and into the apartment that did duty
as a kitchen. Beyond, in the yard, the servant was stirring up a small
charcoal fire, built under a shelter of palm thatch, the sides being
open so that the smoke and heat might escape.
Presently a negro boy hove into view on the road. He carried in his hand
the body of a dead rooster. As he came closer, Dick saw that the fowl
had steel spurs attached to his legs.
"A dead gamecock," he muttered. "I'll wager there has been cock-fighting
somewhere, and Señor Maguel is going to dish us up the defeated fowl."
Dick hurried back to the others and told them of what he had seen. At
once old Jacob grew indignant and rushed to the rear of the inn, where
the servant was in the act of decapitating the dead fowl with an axe.
"We won't eat thet, consarn ye!" he cried, pointing his long, bony
finger at the fowl. "We want chicken—good barnyard fowls—an' don't ye
forgit it!"
The girl did not understand a word of what was said, but she understood
his actions and stepped back, dropping the gamecock as she did so. At
once old Jacob secured the fowl, and marched into the inn with it, and
up to where Jose Maguel still sat snoring in the chair. A shake of the
shoulder aroused the innkeeper, and he gazed in bewilderment when the
old Yankee tar held up the gamecock before his nose.
"Do ye suppose civilized Americans air a-goin' to eat thet?" came from
old Jacob, wrathfully. "I'd jest as lief eat crow. We want real chicken,
killed fer the purpose o' eating, understand?"
"_Un Americano_ no like dis?" queried Jose Maguel, mildly.
"No, we don't like it, not by a jugful. You give us real chicken."
"Dis chicken—good chicken."
"It's a slaughtered fowl from one o' yer cockfights," roared old Jacob.
"Like ez not, he's pizened from the other bird's cuts. Oh, I know all on
ye do nothing but look at cock-fighting day in an' day out, much to yer
discredit. We want good chicken, understand?"
"Yes. Señor shall have good chicken," growled the Spaniard; and inwardly
very angry, but not daring to show it before so many strangers, he took
the gamecock and passed into the kitchen with it.
"He'll make you eat it if he can," observed Leander. "He's mad clear
through, I can see that."
"I'm going to watch him, lad, until the meal is on the table," replied
old Jacob; and this he did, and made certain that they got a chicken
which was caught and killed for that purpose. Cock-fighting is a
national sport in Porto Rico, and it is a great trick to work off the
slain fowls on anybody who does not know the difference, the natives
rarely eating their fallen champions.
When supper was served it was by no means a bad meal, although all of
the party had eaten better. It consisted of chicken, rice cakes, fried
sweet potatoes, baked bananas, and bread and jelly, with strong native
coffee. As they ate, the host sat by, but said nothing to them.
"We may as well retire early," observed Robert Menden. "We want to reach
the vicinity of the caves by to-morrow."
"Did you ask the landlord about the caves?" queried Don.
"I mentioned them in an off-hand way, but he said he knew nothing about
them." And this, let me add, is not strange, for it is but lately that
the caves have become known to the great majority of people.
"We don't want to let anybody suspect our mission here," put in Bob.
"They might follow and rob us, you know."
"Thet's it," added old Jacob. "As long as we know about where the caves
are, ye had better keep yer trap closed. I allers found thet it paid not
to talk too much in a strange country."
Robert Menden had his written description of the caves with him, and
before retiring, all hands pored over this, hoping by it to gain some
clew concerning the box with the initials, M. M. M.
The rain continued to come down, but it did not lightning and thunder,
and the gentle patter-patter on the roof acted as a lullaby to the tired
boys, everyone of whom went sound asleep in short order. Then Robert
Menden and old Jacob dropped off, and all became quiet in the two rooms
which the party occupied.
How long he slept Don did not know. But he awoke with a start and sat
up, not knowing what had aroused him.
The room was in semi-darkness, the smoky lamp being turned down low. All
of the others were sleeping soundly.
"Dick!" he cried softly, but there was no reply from his chum.
"Bob! Leander!" he continued after a long pause. Still no answer, saving
a long snore from Bob, as he turned over restlessly.
"It's mighty queer what woke me up," thought the boy. He usually slept
well.
He dropped back on the bed and tried to go to sleep again.
But the effort was a failure, and though he lay back with his eyes
tightly closed, he was as wide-awake as before.
Then, of a sudden, although he heard nothing, a peculiar sensation stole
over him, and he became convinced that some stranger was in the
apartment!