After that we worked along in silence. The bush was alive with tropical birds that darted hither and thither, uttering their calls and cries, which were far from musical. Under our feet, in the muck and rank vines, the insects hummed incessantly, the sound punctured occasionally by the dismal croak of a frog.
"This is the Philippines over again," whispered Dan to me, and I could not help but smile.
"To me it is Cuba," I replied, and thought for an instant of those perils Alano Guerez and myself had faced when we were lost in the Pearl of the Antilles.
"Halt!" came in a low tone from Oliver.
"What's up now? Do you see the Spaniard?" I asked.
"No; but there is a hut ahead and he may have gone inside," was Oliver's answer; and we stopped short to consider our next move.
