Don Mario sank to the floor in terror. “Caramba! caramba!” he howled. “But I had letters from the Bishop! I was ordered by him to do it!”
“Bien, señor,” replied the captain, whose heart was not wholly devoid of pity, “produce your letters.”
“Dios arriba! I burned them! He said I should! I obeyed him! Caramba! I am lost––lost!”
“Señor Capitán,” interposed Josè, “may I plead for the man? He is––”
“There, Padre,” returned the captain, holding up a hand, “it is useless. Doubtless this has been brought about by motives which you do not understand. It is unfortunate––but inevitable. You have a cárcel here? Bien,” addressing his lieutenant, “remove the prisoner to it, and at sunset let the sentence be carried out.”
Don Mario, screaming with fear, was dragged from the room.
“And now, señores,” continued the captain calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, “I appoint Don Fernando, former secretary, as temporary Alcalde, until such time as the Governor may fill the office permanently. And,” he continued, looking about the room with a heavy scowl, while the timid people shrank against the wall, “as for those misguided ones who took part with Don Mario in this anticlerical uprising––his fate will serve, I think, as a warning!”
A hush of horror lay upon the stunned people as they filed slowly out of the room.
“Bien,” added the captain, addressing Fernando, “quarters for my men, and rations. We return to the Hercules at daybreak. And let all arms and ammunition be collected. Every house must be searched. And we shall want peones to carry it to the river.”