The Storm Breaks
Pedro was asleep in his chair, but roused when Cristoval laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"Old friend," said the latter, "we are prisoners."
Pedro sat up, regarding his companion with incredulity. "Prisoners again, sayst thou, Cristoval?"
"Prisoners! I asked the Inca's leave to quit the palace at once, and was denied."
"At once! To-night?" demanded Pedro. "Well, then stew me if I'm not glad thou wast denied! Here is our supper, scarce touched. Here are two beds, immaculate. Cristoval, thou 'rt rash, hot-headed, and too impetuous by far! Now what if the Inca had given thee thy leave?"
"We should have taken it and gone," replied Cristoval.
"Como asi! Just so," said the cook, in a tone of reproach. "We should have taken it and gone—supperless, bedless, two wanderers by night. As for being prisoners, the news would have kept until morning, and I for one, would have slept none the worse."
Cristoval regarded him moodily. "Gods, but thou hast philosophy, for a captive cook!"
"Philosophy!" retorted Pedro; "'t is common sense. But come! Let us fall to, and thou tell me whilst we eat."