Rosendo stood before him like a statue. His thought was confused, and it moved slowly. In the cries of the disturbed birds he seemed now to hear the warning voice of Carmen. In the watery vapor that rolled over him he seemed to feel the touch of her soft, restraining hand.
“Bien, compadre,” purred Diego, “would it not be well for you to loosen this bit of thread, that we may make our way back to the village? Caramba! but it cuts sore––and I am soft, my friend, for I have been ill.”
Rosendo’s wrath flared up anew. “What made you ill, cayman?” he shouted, drawing nearer to the shrinking Diego and shaking a great fist in his face. “What made you ill, buzzard? Caramba! I would that your illness had carried you off and saved me the task of sending you down to purgatory!”
Diego became thoroughly alarmed again. “But––Rosendo––caro amigo, let us reason together! Ah, compadre––loosen but a little this rope which cuts into my tender skin as your bitter words do into my soul!”
“Na, vulture, but you will drown more quickly thus!” retorted Rosendo, his huge frame trembling with agitation.
Diego’s heart stopped. Then he sought to collect himself. He was in a desperate plight. But the man before him was an ignorant peon. It was not the first time that he had set his own wit against another’s brute strength. The ever-present memory of the girl became more vivid. It glowed before him. What was it she had said? “You see only your thoughts of me––and they are very bad!” Was he seeing now only his own bad thoughts? But she had said they were unreal. And this episode––Hombre! he would not be afraid. His thought was vastly more powerful than that of a simple peon! He smiled again at his fear.
“But, amigo,” he resumed gently, “if you had wished to drown me, why did you bring me here? But––ah, well, I have long been prepared to go. I have been sadly misunderstood––disbelieved––persecuted! Ah, friend Rosendo, if you could know what I do––but––Bien, it is of no consequence now. Come, then, good fellow, despatch me quickly! I have made my peace with God.” Diego ceased talking and began to murmur prayers.
Rosendo stared at him in amazement. The wind was being taken from his sails. Diego noted the effect, and resumed his speech. His voice was low and soft, and at times great tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Rosendo, friend, I wish to go. I weary of life. There is no stain upon my soul. And yet, I grieve that you must tarnish yours with my blood. But,” his eyes brightening and his 270 tone becoming more animated, “Rosendo, I will pray the blessed Virgin for you. When I am with her in paradise I will ask her to beg the gentle Saviour to forgive you. Bien, good friend, we shall all be together in heaven some day.” He started his orisons again, and soon was praying like a locomotive: “Ora pro nobis! Santa Maria, ora pro nobis!”