There was a deal of talking going
on in the group about the prisoner, but Jimmie could catch only
part of what was said.
The soldiers--if the ragged, sullen-looking natives might so be
termed--talked fast and in a villainous tongue which did not
seem to be Spanish. They appeared to be greatly excited, and
it was only when the heavy voice of the leader boomed forth
that they reverted to silence.
Jimmie could not understand what the prisoner had been brought
there for. If the idea of his captors was to restore him to
his friends, that would be the work of only a minute. They
would only have to cut the bonds and Fremont would do the
rest. If the idea was to murder him, why the delay? It
had been hours since his capture, and it would have taken
only a minute to discover that the wrong boy had been taken.
If, as Jimmie considered gravely, the big man should prove
to be a civil officer from Texas, a a man with a warrant
for Fremont, then it seemed that he would be getting him
across the border as quickly as possible, taking no
chances with slow Mexican criminal procedure. This last
view of the case was the one which Jimmie feared most.
He might be able to get his friend away from Mexican
bandits, but not from a Texas sheriff.
The next words of the leader settled every doubt on the
question the boy was puzzling over. Although they showed
that Fremont was in immediate peril of his life, the
watcher was in a measure relieved at the knowledge they
brought him.
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