“Mad-brained indeed!” cried Perry indignantly. “And didn’t father say they must go?”
“No,” replied Cyril, laughing, “because he had no authority, and he was perfectly helpless. You see he couldn’t go himself.”
“I only wish he was strong enough,” cried Perry. “He would soon show some of them.”
“Hasn’t he shown them enough? My father’s right.”
“What, in giving up?” cried Perry indignantly.
“No, in behaving like a good soldier, and drawing off his forces when he is beaten. Father told him that it was folly to go on now in his helpless state. That, injured as he was, he would kill himself and you and your man too, for you had neither mules, provisions, nor weapons, and that the only thing to do was to go back.”
“And what did my father say?” cried Perry hotly.
“Nothing. He only held out his hand without speaking, and they stood for half a minute.”
“But it’s horrid to be beaten and go back like this, robbed of all our belongings, and just too when we had succeeded so well. The cowards! All that party against us. I feel as if I couldn’t go back to San Geronimo.”
“So do I,” said Cyril dolefully.