Young Hunters in Porto Rico: or, The Search for a Lost Treasure

"We'll give you a dollar," added Leander. "Gosh, but they believe in making money, don't they," he added, in a whisper.

"No take dollar," came from the Porto Rican. "Take ten dollar."

"Ten dollars!" gasped Dick, not so much over the amount of the sum, but because of the "cheek" in asking it. "You don't want much, do you?"

"We'll give two dollars – we can't pay any more," said Leander.

But at this the Caribs shook their woolly heads. They were bound to make money out of the Americans' misfortune. Such a thing as being generous never entered their heads.

"Ten dollar, or we go away again," said the one who could speak broken English.

"We'll give you three dollars," said Dick.

"No, ten dollar."

To this the Caribs stuck, and at last the boys promised them the amount.

"But you have got to pull us out first," said Leander.

Even to this the negroes demurred, and in the end it was agreed to pay five dollars first, and the second five when they were safe.

Dick took some Spanish money and tied it in, a handkerchief, which he threw up so that the largest of the Caribs could catch it. Then one of the natives ran off to get a long rope.

Getting up out of the hole by the aid of the rope was comparatively easy. As soon as the youths were on the top of the earth once more, each of the natives caught a boy and held him.

"Now pay udder five dollars to Bumbum," grinned the leader of the pair.

"Is your name Bumbum?" demanded Dick.

"Yes, señor."

"All right, Bumbum, here is the money, and let me say that I think you about the meanest Porto Rican on the island."

"Bumbum must earn his living, señor."

"I don't call this earning a living. What do you do, as a general rule? Lie about to squeeze strangers?"

At this the Carib's face darkened. "No insult me, or you be sorry!" he cried, and made a movement as if to draw some weapon from his bosom.

"Come, let us be going," cried Leander, in alarm.

"I'm ready," was Dick's reply, and they hurried off in one direction, while Bumbum and his companion, accompanied by the negro boy, stalked off in another. Soon the two parties were lost to sight of each other; but that was not the last, by any means, that was seen of the wily Caribs.

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 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.