KINDRED FEELING.
"He shall be hung; I have said it."
And Hernan Cortes looked very much indeed at that moment as if he had said it.
"As if he had said the whole band of us should be hung," muttered that incorrigible Juan de Cabrera. After a moment's pause he added, "Toro, my brother."
"Thy brother!" exclaimed a companion standing by. "Thy very reverend, great, great-grandfather, thou shouldst say."
"Doubtless," returned the other calmly; "but still my brother in arms, so do not interrupt thy betters, Rodrigo, but hearken. My brother Toro, dost thou not feel thankful that there is no rope in the camp strong enough to hang us all at one go?"
Montoro lifted his proud head high.
"If I were a thief I should be glad," he said slowly, and with a significance little relished by not a few of those about him.
Some of them sauntered off to the neighbourhood of less strict censors. Cabrera laughed. Thieving propensities were not amongst the long list of his faults. But he looked grave again as he said—
"After all, though, it is hard lines upon that unlucky dog Morla, that he should have to be the one to do duty—hanging for the rest of the culprits. A flogging now, or some such penance as that, you know, that—that—"