He had hardly spoken before a murmur arose and swords were drawn, for there was a quick step outside, a voice cried “El rey!” and one of the smuggler’s followers pressed through to whisper a few words.
“Ah!” cried the recipient, who turned and said a few words in Spanish to the King, who rose to his feet, drew his rough cloak around him, and stood as if prepared for anything that might come.
Just then Pen’s voice was heard, and, quite free now, Punch stepped to the door and took the two muskets that were passed down to him. Then Pen descended with the cartouche-boxes and belts, and handed one to Punch in exchange for a musket, and the two lads stood ready.
The smuggler smiled approval as he saw his young friends’ prompt action, and nodded his head.
“Can you walk?” he said.
Pen nodded.
“And can you fire a few shots on our behalf?”
“Try us,” replied Pen. “But it rather goes against the grain after what we have received. You only came in time.”
“Yes, I know,” replied the smuggler. “But there are many mistakes in war, and we are all friends now.”
The contrabandista turned from him sharply and hurried to the door, where another of his followers appeared, who whispered a few words to him, received an order, and stepped back, while his leader turned to the father and said something, which resulted in the old man joining the two lads and pressing their hands, looking at them sadly.