"Bueno! You are the friend of Don Miguel, who saved my life. Be happy, Señor; I will not fail to rescue you from the stone of Huitzilopochtli. And now, Señor Juan, we must go down, else will the priests be suspicious of these long talks between us."
"There is only one thing I would like to do before I leave Totatzine," remarked Duval, as they went down to his room.
"And that, Señor?"
"Is to break the neck of Ixtlilxochitli by throwing him down those steps."
Cocom laughed softly. It was a rare thing for this melancholy Indian to do, but he did not love Ixtlilxochitli, and the idea amused him greatly.
"Come," said Duval, tapping his friend on the back, "let us go and take the eleven. We must drink success to our scheme in a flask of aguardiente."
CHAPTER VIII.
AN INDIAN FESTIVAL.
The sacred drums of serpents' skins
Send forth their muffled roar afar;
Before the shrine the opal spins,