Leoncia frowned at him; but Francis took his part.

“That’s true,” he agreed. “But we will eliminate the guards.”

“The five-foot walls,” said Martinez Solano,[54] twin brother to Alvarado.[55]

“That’s what I mean. You, Senor Solano, have plenty of saddle horses?[56] Good. And you, Alesandro,[57] can you supply me with a couple of sticks of dynamite? Good, and better than good. And do you have in your store-room a plentiful supply of rye whiskey?”

It was in the mid-afternoon, and Henry, at his barred cell-window, stared out into the street. The street was dusty and filthy. Next, he saw a light wagon drawn by a horse. In the seat a gray-headed, gray-bearded ancient man strove vainly to check the horse.[58]

Henry smiled. When directly opposite the window, the old man made a last effort. The driver fell backward into the seat. Then the wagon was a wreck. The old man swung the horse in a circle until it stopped.

The gendarmes erupted from the jail. The old man went hurriedly to the wagon and began an examination of the several packing cases, large and small, which composed its load. One of the gendarmes addressed him.

“Me? Alas senors, I am an old man, and far from home. I am Leopoldo Narvaez.[59] I have driven from Bocas del Toro. It has taken me five days, and business has been poor. My home is in Colon. But tell me, is there Tomas Romero[60] who dwells in this pleasant city of San Antonio?”

“There are many Romeros who dwell everywhere in Panama,” laughed Pedro Zurita,[61] the assistant jailer.[62] “Do you mean the rich Tomas Romero who owns many cattle on the hills?”

“Yes, senor, it must be he. I shall find him. If my precious stock-in-trade[63] can be safely stored, I shall seek him now.” As he talked, he took out from his pocket two silver pesos and handed them to the jailer.

Pedro Zurita and the gendarmes began to carry the boxes into the jail.

“Careful, senors, careful,” the old one pleaded, greatly anxious. “Handle it gently. It is fragile, most fragile.”

Then he added gratefully: “A thousand thanks, senors. It has been my good fortune to meet with honest men with whom my goods will be safe. Tomorrow I shall return, and take my goods. Adios, senors, adios!”

In the guardroom, fifty feet away from Henry’s cell, the gendarmes were robbing Leopoldo Narvaez. Pedro Zurita made a profound survey of the large box.

“Leave it alone, Pedro,” one of the gendarmes laughed at him. The assistant jailer sighed, walked away and sat down, looked back at the box, and sighed again.

“Take the hatchet there and open the box,” he said. “Open the box, Ignacio,[64] we will look, we will only look. Then we will close the box again.”

“Whiskey! The old man was a fool,” laughed gendarmes. “That whiskey was his, all his, and he has never taken one little sip!”

In few minutes everybody was drunk. Pedro Zurita became sentimental.

“My prisoners,” he maundered. “I love them as brothers. Life is sad. My prisoners are my very children. My heart bleeds for them. Behold! I weep. Let us share with them. Let them have a moment’s happiness. Ignacio, carry a bottle of this elixir to the Gringo Morgan. Give him my love. He will drink and be happy today.”

The voice outside caught Henry’s attention, and he was crossing his big cell to the window when he heard a key in the door. Ignacio came in, completely drunk, bottle in hand, which he gravely presented to Henry.

“With the high compliments of our good jailer, Pedro Zurita,” he mumbled. “He says to drink and forget that he must stretch your neck tomorrow.”