“Our search is over; we have found them.  But they won’t believe that Esteban is alive.  Tell them the truth.”

“Yes, he is alive.  We found him rotting in a prison and we rescued him,” Jacket corroborated.  He stared curiously at the recumbent figure on the bench, then at O’Reilly.  He puckered his lips and gave vent to a low whistle of amazement.  “So.  This is your pretty one, eh?  I—­She—­Well, I don’t think much of her.  But then, you are not so handsome yourself, are you?”

Evangelina seemed to be stupid, a trifle touched, perhaps, from suffering, for she laid a skinny claw upon O’Reilly’s shoulder and warned him earnestly:  “Look out for Cobo.  You have heard about him, eh?  Well, he is the cause of all our misery.  He hunted us from place to place, and it was for him that I put that hump on her back.  Understand me, she is straight—­straight and pretty enough for any American.  Her skin is like milk, too, and her hair--she used to put flowers in it for you, and then we would play games.  But you never came.  You will make allowances for her looks, will you not?”

“Poor Rosa!  You two poor creatures!” O’Reilly choked; he hid his face upon his sweetheart’s breast.

Rosa responded; her fingers caressed him and she sighed contentedly.

O’Reilly’s ascent of the hill had been slow, but his descent was infinitely slower, for Rosa was so feeble that she could help herself but little and he lacked the strength to carry her far at a time.  Finally, however, they reached the wretched hovel where Asensio lay, then leaving her there, Johnnie sped on alone into the city.  He returned soon with several small bundles concealed about his person, and with Evangelina’s help he set about preparing food.

Neither Rosa nor the two negroes had any appetite—­their hunger had long since passed the point at which they were conscious of it—­and O’Reilly was compelled to force them to eat.  When he had given them all that he dared he offered what food was left to Jacket.

The boy moistened his lips and his fingers twitched, but he shook his head.

“Oh, I’m not so hungry,” he declared, indifferently.  “I have a friend in the market-place; I will go down there and steal a fish from him.”

O’Reilly patted him on the shoulder, saying:  “You are a good kid, and you understand, don’t you?  These sick people will need more food than we can buy for them, so we will have to draw our belts tight.”

“Of course.  Eating is a habit, anyhow, and we men know how to get along without it.  I will manage to find something for you and me, for I’m a prodigious thief.  I can steal the hair from a man’s head when I try.”  With a nod he set off to find his benefactor’s supper.

Jacket whistled heroically until he was out of O’Reilly’s hearing, then his bearing changed.  His mouth drew down, and moisture came into his eyes.  He rubbed a grimy hand over his stomach, murmuring, faintly:  “Cristo!  It is hard to be a man when you smell things cooking!”