They continued on their way until five o'clock, when it began to rain.
"No use of getting wet," declared Robert Menden. "I move we seek shelter for the night."
This was agreed to, and they hurried on to where there stood a sort of wayside inn—a rambling, two-story affair, built of rough stone and whitewashed.
A tall and not overly-pleasant looking Spaniard received them, and soon Dick had arranged for supper, lodging and breakfast for the entire party.
The wayside inn was almost deserted, only the proprietor, his wife and a negro servant being present.
They were shown to two rooms in the second story—low apartments, but well ventilated—and here their host left them, stating that supper would be ready at seven o'clock.
The boys surveyed the apartments with interest. Each room was perfectly square, with its floor covered with a rough matting of sea-grass. The walls were bare, saving for one or two religious pictures miserably executed. The beds were old-fashioned "four-posters," covered with straw ticks and plain white sheets, nothing more.
"They don't need blankets," observed old Jacob. "A man can keep warm without half tryin'. Thet's why the windows ain't got no glass in 'em, an' there ain't no stoves around."
The rain continued to come down steadily, so that they could not roam about the place. After a general washing up, they went below, to find their host, Jose Maguel, snoring lustily in an easy-chair in the parlor.
"Half-past six," said Menden, looking at his watch. "I wonder what they will give us for supper?"
"He promised us chicken," answered Dick. "But it ought to be cooking by this time."
He walked through the dining-room and into the apartment that did duty as a kitchen. Beyond, in the yard, the servant was stirring up a small charcoal fire, built under a shelter of palm thatch, the sides being open so that the smoke and heat might escape.
Presently a negro boy hove into view on the road. He carried in his hand the body of a dead rooster. As he came closer, Dick saw that the fowl had steel spurs attached to his legs.
"A dead gamecock," he muttered. "I'll wager there has been cock-fighting somewhere, and Señor Maguel is going to dish us up the defeated fowl."
Dick hurried back to the others and told them of what he had seen. At once old Jacob grew indignant and rushed to the rear of the inn, where the servant was in the act of decapitating the dead fowl with an axe.
