A week passed. Professor Bumper was able to be about, and Tom and Ned noticed that there was an anxious look on his face. Was he, too, beginning to despair?
“Well, this isn’t hunting for golden idols very fast,” said Mr. Damon, the morning of the eighth day after their desertion by the faithless Jacinto. “What do you say, Professor Bumper; ought we not to start off on our own account?”
“We had better if Tolpec does not return today,” was the answer.
They had eaten breakfast, had put their camp in order, and were about to have a consultation on what was best to do, when Tom suddenly called to Ned, who was whistling:
“Hark!”
Through the jungle came a faint sound of singing — not a harmonious air, but the somewhat barbaric chant of the natives.
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“It is Tolpec coming back!” cried Mr. Damon. “Hurray! Now our troubles are over t Bless my meal ticket! Now we can start!”
“It may be Jacinto,” suggested Ned.
“Nonsense! you old cold-water pitcher!” cried Tom. “It’s Tolpec! I can see him! He’s a good scout all right!”
And then, walking at the head of a band of Indians who were weirdly chanting while behind them came a train of mules, was Tolpec, a cheerful grin covering his honest, if homely, dark face.
“Me come back!” he exclaimed in gutteral English, using about half of his foreign vocabulary.
“I see you did,” answered Professor Bumper in the man’s own tongue. “Glad to see you. Is everything all right?”
“All right,” was the answer. “These Indians will take you where you want to go, and will not leave you as Jacinto did.”