"Then, Señor, you will fetch one from Xauxa," said Duero, with determination.
"Curse me if I will!" retorted the veedor, angrily. "And look thou, Duero: this is mine affair. Thy part in it is done. Thou'lt refrain from meddling."
Duero motioned his companions forward, and stepped to raise the Ñusta. At the move Rogelio forgot himself and sprang forward with a snarl and curse to interpose, but recollected himself at once when Duero, dagger half-drawn, thrust an elbow beneath his chin and met his eyes with a scowl so malevolent that he caught breath with a sudden weakening of his knees. As the veedor retreated with a gasp Duero followed him steadily with his glare, then turned again with deliberation to the couch. The veedor raised a shaking hand to his throat as if he expected to find it already cut, and quavered:—
"My—my soul—and body, Duero! Thou'rt sudden! Wait! I—fiends and goblins!—I'll go if it will please thee."
"It will," said Duero, briefly. "See that you do. We will tarry until your return. But first, a small cup of chicha. We must warm her blood, or your woman will find a corpse. Do you hear, Veedor? A cup of chicha!"
The veedor started painfully and waddled away. He was back in a moment with the liquor. The soldier forced a few drops between the pallid lips of the Ñusta, and vigorously chafed her hands and arms. A fierce, unprincipled rascal in most respects, he was endowed with a rough warmth of heart to which the helpless state of his captive made silent appeal. He worked with what gentleness was in him, and when at last Rava opened her pathetic eyes he motioned his companions out of the room with the hamaca. Rogelio lingered near, but a gesture from Duero and the menace in his eyes sent him back into the shadow, whispering a futile anathema. When the unhappy girl revived somewhat the soldier drew a robe over her, and leaving her sobbing desolately among the pillows, gripped Rogelio's arm and led him out. He locked the door, and to the veedor's astonishment and rage, pocketed the key. The other commenced a shrill expostulation, but the burly Duero merely hunched a shoulder at him with chin thrust out and a sidelong glance of quiet viciousness that stopped his railing abruptly. Rogelio led the way to his room with no further word, followed by his four sullen hirelings.
They ranged themselves round his table in silence. The veedor stood glancing uneasily from one scowl to another, then piped in irritation: "Well, gentlemen, your task is finished, isn't it? Come now, my good friends, the hour groweth late. Return in the morning, and I'll give you your hire."
Duero stepped forward, planting a powerful fist upon the table and hitching at his belt: "Señor Veedor, we'll have our hire now! Then, when you have brought some one to look after the señorita, our business is done. In the meantime, with your leave—or without it—we wait here. She must be cared for before morning. But now, our gold."
Rogelio blinked about the circle, snuffled, and went out. Having closed the door, his rage overflowed in a series of frenzied gesticulations in the direction of Duero, accompanied by suppressed grunts and squeaks, until he was swollen in feature and quite breathless. He returned with a bag and pair of balances. They looked on with vigilance while he weighed out the gold, the lamp illuminating swarthy faces full of eagerness—except that of Duero, which was only watchful and grim.
"There!" snapped the employer. "Two thousand castellanos. Take it."