For, their breakfast ended, the two lads stood with their hosts, and Pen patted his own breast and that of his companion, and then touched their muskets and belts.
“Soldado,” he said. “Soldado.”
The fiercer-looking of the two goat-herds caught his meaning directly, and touched them both in turn upon the breast before repeating the word soldado (soldier).
“That’s all right, Punch,” said Pen. “I have made him understand that we are soldiers.”
“Tchah!” said Punch scornfully. “These Spaniels ain’t fools. They knowed that without you telling them.”
“Never mind,” said Pen. “Let me have my own way, unless you would like to do it.”
“No, thank you,” replied the boy, shrinking back, while Pen now turned and pointed in the direction where he believed the French troops lay.
“Soldado Francés?” he said in a questioning tone; and the man nodded quickly, caught hold of the lad’s pointing arm, and pressed it a little to one side, as if to show him that he had not quite located their enemies correctly.
“Soldado Francés!” he said, showing his white teeth in a smile; and then his face changed and he drew his knife. “Soldado Francés,” he said fiercely.
Pen nodded, and signed to the man to replace his knife.