"While you are waiting for that money," said Hemming, "will you be kind enough to ask some of your men to dig a grave over there?" He pointed with his hand. The lieutenant gave the order. Then he turned to Hemming. "We regret the doctor's death," he said, "but,--ah--well--the fortunes of war." "You give this lawlessness rather a dignified name," replied the Englishman. A blush was all the Brazilian's answer. "Do you want to kill us all, or is it only the money you are after?" asked Hemming. The lieutenant looked both ashamed and sulky. He was handsome in a weak sort of way, with a baby face and a thread of black moustache. "We want not to kill," he began, in stilted English, then in his own tongue he continued, "We swore long ago to stick together and hold to our plans,--all except Captain Santosa. We are poor, and one way of making money seemed as good as another. We have our pride and our honour,--we officers. You insulted our colonel. You have called us robbers. Now we will humble your arrogance,--and get our pay." Hemming translated slowly, often having to hark back to a word and feel around for its meaning. The troopers, who had caught something of the conversation, awaited the commander-in-chief's reply in expectant attitudes. "You have your pride," he said at last; "then, for God's sake, take it away! It reminds me of a cur with a rotten bone. And that murderer you have with you, surely you are proud of him. Humble my arrogance if you can. It will stand a lot of that sort of thing." He looked out to where three men were breaking the sod for Scott's grave. "How many of you has Doctor Scott nursed back to worthless lives?" he asked. The men turned their faces toward the gravediggers. CHAPTER XII. O'ROURKE TO THE RESCUE Penthouse (still known to the army as Señor Cuddlehead) sat in the colonel's bedroom in an unenviable frame of mind. He had been a fool to show himself to Hemming. He had been a fool to put any faith in these niggers. Why, the little cowards were afraid to break into the house,--afraid to face five white men and a couple of women. And now that Hemming had seen him again, and again in a decidedly unfavourable light, what mercy could he expect if Hemming ever got out of the President's villa? Whatever he could do must be done quickly. He looked at the colonel, who lay in drunken half-slumber on the bed. "You don't seem to be carrying out our plans," he said. The Brazilian groaned, and muttered something in his own tongue, which, fortunately, the other could not translate. "We must carry off the women to-night. Our chances of getting what we want lessen every hour. If help comes from the coast, then what will happen? Half a dozen men could run your dirty army out of the country." With every unheeded word, Penthouse's anger grew. The colonel sprawled there, murmuring that he felt very ill. Penthouse jumped up and shook him violently.