'Is it Vilcaroya or Prada?'
'Vilcaroya to a friend, Prada to an enemy,' he answered, in the dialect in which I had addressed him.
'Then we are friends,' I said, taking off the peaked cap that had belonged to the other sentry, and showing him the long, straight, brown hair that betokened my race. 'I am he who has come back from the days that are dead—Vilcaroya, the son of Huayna-Capac.'
'And I am thy servant, Lord,' he said, bringing his rifle-butt down between his feet, and bending his head over the muzzle. 'I am one of those who saw the glory of my Lord in the Hall of Gold last night.'
'Then thou art one of the faithful,' I said, 'for none have betrayed the secret or earned the swift death that would have been theirs had they done so. Now tell me, how many of those who are on guard here to-night may be trusted?'
'There are twenty of us here, Lord, not counting the officer in command.'
'Nay,' I said, interrupting him, 'there are but nineteen, for he who wore this coat and carried this rifle was an enemy, and I have killed him, as I would have killed thee hadst thou been an enemy. Now, of these nineteen, how many may I trust?'
'There are but five who may not be trusted, not counting the officer, and he is a Spaniard, and must be killed.'
'That is good,' I said, for the tone in which he had said these last words had pleased me well. 'Now this man with me is my faithful friend, and one who will fight well for me and my people. Go on the other side of him, and we will take him as a prisoner to the officer. Then thou shalt see how Vilcaroya deals with his enemies.'
He bent his head in assent, and took his place beside Hartness, and as we marched away Hartness said to me,—