A SNOOPING YANKEE
“Renan Carmichael Pemberton, that is his full name,” said Old Marcellus
proudly. “We’ve always called him Rene for short. But what are you going
to do about him, Mr. Hal? You are loyal to your government as well as to
us, eh?”
“I think,” said Hal with a smile at Felice, “that I can dope out a way
to be loyal to both. Just one thing I’d like to find out though—was he
in on that plane plot?”
“I can vouch for him that he wasn’t,” Felice said stoutly. “I don’t
think Rene ever met that José Rodriguez before in his life. There are
many in the _Cause_, you know. They can’t all be acquainted. It was just
a coincidence.”
“I’m inclined to believe it. Well, what do you say we all turn in? We
may not get such a good sleep tomorrow night.”
They all agreed and Hal was about to go when he thought of something.
“How about guns, Mr. Pemberton?” he asked the old man. “Have you
anything like that around here?”
The old man said he had. Enough to protect themselves for a little
while. And Goncalves, he was certain, was acting upon his own
initiative. Ceara, he declared, would have no part in such a scheme.
“I hope so,” Hal said aloud when he got into his hammock a moment later.
“It would pain me to know that Ceara did anything like that after all
the puffs he’s been given!” He chuckled, then looked grave the next
minute.
He was thinking about Renan—_Rene_, and did not know which name he
preferred. He did know, however, that he thought the Pembertons a queer
lot. Somehow their connection with the _Cause_ amused him, and he
wondered if they, too, could not see the humorous side of it. Renan must
certainly see it. Laughter and smuggled munitions!
Hal realized after a while, however, that there was not so much to laugh
at with Goncalves. He presented a problem grave enough to make one
frown. Meanwhile the time was fleeing and before they knew it, the Señor
would be paying them a visit.
His mind was so full of this worry that he slept but little and got up
at dawn. After dressing he hurried down to the river bank to think it
over, and in his nervous deliberation he pulled out of his pocket the
handkerchief which he had had with him the night before.
It felt gritty to the touch, and when he went to put it up to his face a
light-colored substance fell from it to the ground. It interested him
greatly.
Hal examined it curiously, particularly the few particles that clung to
the handkerchief. Then he bethought himself of how, the night before, he
had slid down the sloping embankment and into the bushes to avoid the
canoeists. That was where he had wiped the wet clay from his hands.
He shook his head uncertainly and slid down the embankment again. There
he delved about, poking into the embankment and eagerly scrutinizing
every bit of clay that came out in his hand. In several places he did
this until he espied his footsteps in the wet earth. Almost covering
them was some more clay which he had loosened in his fall.
He searched through it carefully and finally brought up a handful of the
yellow dust which he scooped up immediately. Then he scrambled up the
bank and across the clearing, almost running into Old Marcellus as he
came out of his door.
“G’d mornin’, young sir. You seem to have been as restless as myself,”
said the old man.
“Looks that way all right,” Hal said, hardly able to contain himself.
“But it’s a good thing I was restless. I think, Mr. Pemberton, that I’ve
discovered something.”
“What is that, young man?”
“Gold,” Hal answered, smiling. “A whole handkerchief full!”
“_Great Scott!_” exclaimed the astonished old man.
“Mr. Pemberton,” Hal said whimsically, opening the handkerchief for his
delighted inspection, “that expression you just used—_Great Scott!_—is
uttered by Americans only. Do you know that? What’s more it’s a purely
Yankee term and yet you use it!”
“I wouldn’t stand for that insult, young man,” said Old Marcellus with a
faint gleam of mirth in his weak blue eyes, “if it wasn’t that you’ve
discovered my gold.”
“Then you admit that you’ve given praise to a Yankee by using his name?”
Hal teased. “You’ve committed the unpardonable sin, Mr. Pemberton.”
“Then I have,” said the old man, biting back the smile that wanted to
shine on his thin, haggard face. “And I’m not denying now that it took a
snooping Yankee to find our gold—the gold that will mean so much to my
grandchildren.”
“Well,” Hal laughed, “I’d rather be a snooping Yankee than....”
“Than what?” the old man promptly asked.
“Than Señor Carlo Goncalves,” Hal answered with a chuckle.