"He is coming into the forest," exclaimed Roger, in alarm, "He is bending low, and following the tracks left by Philip and myself as if he were a dog, or as if they were as clearly outlined as any road. Ah, he has stopped! That must be the point at which I struck off for this stream." Discovery seemed certain, but in the hope of escaping observation Roger threw himself into the long grass and undergrowth, and burrowed his way into the thickest part. Then he drew his sword, for even now it was not certain that the native would be friendly. "He must take his chance," said Roger between clenched teeth. "We have too great a stake at issue to risk the ship and all our lives for the sake of one native. If he discovers me I shall speak in Spanish, and order him to be silent. If he refuses, and attempts to run----" Could Roger cut him down in cold blood? Could he, taller even than this tall native, set upon him, knowing him to be a slave, for he had so recently seen him cringe beneath the lash of the Spaniards? No! Roger knew well that he could not do that, even for the sake of all his comrades, and for the safety of the expedition. "Poor beggar!" he thought. "I will not harm him; but at the same time I will not allow him to betray us. I will sheathe the sword, and, if he runs, will jump upon his back and capture him." By now the native had turned aside, and was creeping along the narrow track left by Roger. He halted every now and again, and picked up a piece of stick, or bent closer to inspect the ground. Once even his face showed traces of astonishment and fear, and it looked as if he would turn back to the clearing. But at heart, and when no whip dominated him, he was a courageous fellow, and presently he came on again till he was close to Roger. Instantly his frame became rigid with apprehension, and he was about to run, for his eyes had detected the figure lying in the undergrowth. "Stand and be silent," said Roger, sternly. "Do not run, or harm will come to you. I am no Spaniard, but come from another part where the people do not love your masters." He scrambled to his feet and stood up before the astonished native, who eyed him fearfully, and looked for a moment as if he would have bolted. But Roger's youth saved the situation. He looked no villain, no cruel taskmaster, but what he was--a jovial, overgrown young fellow, given to kindness to all. "Not Spanish? There are no others, so we have been taught," exclaimed the native. "Our masters tell us that they rule the world, and they have made slaves of us here as if by natural right. We are forced to work for them, even to learn their tongue that we may understand them. Not Spanish? Then what?" "English!" exclaimed Roger, proudly lifting his head. "We are subjects of King Henry the Eighth, and we are as good, and better than these Spaniards. Why should you slave for them? Why not drive them from your island if they treat you so?"