“‘I’m not so sure of that,’ said he, smiling. ‘What road do you travel to-morrow?’
“‘By Cavalhos and Reina.’
“‘Whereabouts may you happen to be towards sunset?’
“‘I fear we shall be in the mountains,’ said I, with a knowing look, ‘where ambuscades and surprise parties would be highly dangerous.’
“‘And your party consists of—’
“‘About twenty Portuguese, all ready to run at the first shot.’
“‘I’ll do it, Monsoon; I’ll be hanged if I don’t.’
“‘But, Tom,’ said I, ‘don’t make any blunder; only blank cartridge, my boy.’
“‘Honor bright!’ cried he. ‘Your fellows are armed of course?’
“‘Never think of that; they may shoot each other in the confusion. But if you only make plenty of noise coming on, they’ll never wait for you.’