"Prisoners, forsooth! Well, if I were a man! But thou 'rt too good-natured, Pedro, for thine own good. And thou 'rt a love to rescue me," she added, tenderly.
Pedro stepped back a pace and looked uneasily about. "Nay, Señora Bolio," he said, hastily, "it was not I. It was Peralta. Wait. I'll call him."
"Oh, thou'rt so modest, Pedro! I tell thee, it was thou! But hold! God ha' mercy! I had almost forgotten to tell thee. Thou 'rt undone! They have entered thy lodging in Xauxa, broken into thy chests, and taken thy belongings."
"Furies and devils!" exclaimed the cook, sharply. "Who have?"
"Those runnion pikemen from the fortress."
At once flashed over him the use he had planned to make of his savings in aiding Cristoval to escape. He spun around once on his peg and swore with such violence that the cavalier and Father Tendilla hurried up.
"My son, my son!" cried the priest, placing a hand upon his shoulder. "Thy tongue is imperilling thy soul."
"Name of a saint, Pedro! What hath happened?" demanded Cristoval, anxiously.
"Happened!" shouted Pedro. "Scurviness hath happened. Thievery hath happened. Sack, plunder, housebreaking, and depredation have happened. Those rakehells of the infantry have robbed me. Oh, hoop me with hoops lest I burst before I've killed a pikeman!"
He ceased abruptly and went to his mule, leaving the señora to explain. She did so with brevity and emphasis, and Cristoval turned to the priest in disgust: "We've brought a mangy pack, Father Tendilla, to set loose upon these hapless people. They turn to robbing one another before they've done robbing the country." The father shook his head sadly, but made no reply.