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The Moritos are known to be thick in these mountains, and they might find us." "Oh, let's go a little farther," said Cleary, and they set out to climb again. "The path seems to stop here," said Sam, who was in the lead. "This must be the top, but I don't see any place for a view. Perhaps we'd better go back." Cleary did not repeat his objection, and they began to retrace their steps.
For an hour or two they climbed up the half-dry bed of a mountain torrent, and more than once they were ankle-deep in swampy ground. The Moritos passed through the jungle with the agility and noiselessness of cats, but the three white men floundered along as best they could. Their captors uttered never a word and would not allow them to speak.
Cleary tried in vain to explain what a lunatic was. The Moritos had never seen one. "We have plenty of such houses at home," said Sam, "and we have had to double their size in ten years to hold the lunatics; they are splendid buildings. There was one not very far from the college where my friend and I were educated. But some of our prisons are even larger than our lunatic asylums."
Bless your heart, they didn't have any horses, and it's lucky they didn't. They had their hands full without having to manage any horses!" Among the Moritos On the following day headquarters were moved into San Diego. Sam was lodged in the town hall with the general, and Cleary got rooms close by.
A few days later a newspaper was brought to him announcing that the Moritos had massacred the garrison stationed among them, that the whole province of San Diego was in revolt, and that the regiment there would probably have to fall back on Havilla. Sam was much scandalized, and sent at once for the native editor. "What does this mean?" said he.
The asylum was several hours away from the metropolis beyond East Point, and was none other than the great building which they had described to the chief of the Moritos. Cleary took a carriage at the station and drove to his destination, and at last arrived at the huge edifice in the midst of its wide domain. He went into the reception-room and explained his errand.
"To tell the honest truth, Sam, between me and you, I don't know whether you did or not. But The Lyre will say that you did, and that will settle it for history." Sam sighed and made no other reply. The expedition against the Moritos started out a week later.
"Here's a kind of civilian who is not inferior to army men," he thought. "Perhaps he is even superior." He would not have said this aloud, but he thought it. "How de do, Joe?" said Cleary, shaking hands. "That was a great fight. You knocked him out clean. Here's my friend, Colonel Jinks, the hero of San Diego and the pacifier of the Moritos." Corker nodded condescendingly.
The army at San Diego could hardly believe its eyes when at sundown the expedition returned, having fully accomplished its object without firing a shot and accompanied by a band of Moritos. When Cleary's version of the exploit became known, Sam was openly acclaimed as a hero and the favorite of the army. General Laughter complimented him again, and again mentioned him in despatches.
Was he really the hero of San Diego? Was it not the mistakes of Gomaldo which caused his defeat? Was it not true that the boasted subjugation of the Moritos was brought about by the superstitious fear of the savages inspired by the figures tattooed on the captain's body? And the capture of Gomaldo, was it anything but a green-goods game on a large scale?
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