Young Hunters in Porto Rico/Chapter 13
CHAPTER XIII.
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
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."
"If 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 bat 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!