We
were generally without weapons, and we should have to deliver on demand,
and if any one was killed the body could easily be concealed in the
thick brush on either side of the trail, and no special search for
anyone missing would occur.
About noon one day we came to a native hut, and saw growing on a tree
near by something that looked like oranges, and we made very straight
tracks with the idea of picking some and having a feast, but some of the
people in the shanty called out to us and made motions for us not to
pick them for they were no good; so we missed our treat of oranges and
contented ourselves with a big drink of water and walked on.
After a little more travel we came to another shanty made of poles and
palm leaves, occupied by an American. He was a tall, raw-boned,
cadaverous looking way-side renegade who looked as if the blood had all
been pumped out of his veins, and he claimed to be sick. He said he was
one of the Texas royal sons. We applied for some dinner and he lazily
told us there were flour, tea and bacon and that we could help
ourselves. I wet up some flour and baked some cakes, made some poor tea,
and fried some bacon. We all got a sort of dinner out of his pantry
stuff, and left him a dollar apiece for the accommodation. As we walked
on my companion gave out and could carry his bundle no longer, so I took
it, along with my own, and we got on as fast as we could, but darkness
came on us before we reached the Chagres River and we had to stay all
night at a native hut.
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