De Soto looked up at his friend, their faces reflecting consternation and anger.
"'T is for this Pizarro ordered us away—curse his perfidious heart!" cried De Soto.
"A thousand times curse him!" exclaimed Cristoval. "By Heaven, if 'tis true, I'll kill him! Soto, I go to Caxamalca! Juan, have my horse saddled! Pronto!—quick!" he commanded, and hurried to his room. De Soto reread the message, muttered an oath, and followed him out. He met Cristoval buckling on his rapier.
"Hold, Peralta!" he exclaimed; "thou 'rt not going thus, without thy harness! Wear thy corselet, at least."
"No! I'll ride light," returned Cristoval.
"Wait! come to my room," said De Soto. Hurriedly opening his portmanteau, he drew out a package wrapped in oiled silk. He cut its fastenings with his dagger and unrolled a shirt of chain-mail. "Here! Off with thy doublet and on with this. It is Moorish, and of the best. It may serve thee, as it hath many times served me."
It was on in a moment, and Cristoval quickly resumed his doublet. His horse was already at the door, surrounded by three or four troopers, tightening buckles and rubbing his legs, for he had been under saddle since morning.
"Adiós, Peralta!" said the captain, grasping his lieutenant's hand. "Be not rash, and guard thyself until I come. I will follow at dawn."
Cristoval made no reply to the warning. "Farewell, Soto," he said, and swung into the saddle.
Soon he was in the open country, his horse's hoofs ringing on the pavement of the great highway in a rhythm which he knew would not vary for miles. Shadowy trees swept by, cottages and groves were dimly seen and left behind. The walls of a chasqui-post threw back a short chorus of reverberations, and were lost again in the darkness and silence. Presently the streets of a village clamored with the measure, and relapsed into stillness before the startled peasant could open his door. Onward he flew, the night breeze fanning his hot cheeks, the words of Pedro's message repeating themselves over and over in the cadence of the gallop: "The Inca brought to trial—Return with all speed. The Inca brought to trial—return with all speed!"—while a thousand thoughts mingled with the refrain, chasing one another through his fevered mind, with a deep undertone of purposed vengeance if evil had befallen the captive prince.