"Oh—h—h!" ejaculated Montoro now, with a new light of comprehension beginning to dawn on his face. "But yet," he added, after a moment's pause, "although I am willing enough to plead for mercy in this instance, I fear greatly that I shall sue in vain. Cortes is so resolved on making an example of some one."
"I know that. That is why I only ask you to be appointed executioner, and not to plead for pardon. The wretches to whom the office is now given have a personal spite against their comrade, and will take good care that the fatal decree be carried out to the very letter—that he be hanged by the neck until he be dead. Now I propose that you hang him."
"Hold, hold," exclaimed Montoro once more, with a half-smile upon his face, it is true, but a return of horrified disgust also. "You said I was not to have any hanging to do."
"Well, well," was the answer, "not hanging till any one hung be dead, or even choked. But surely, to save a fellow-creature's life, you will not refuse to put a rope round his neck, will you?"
"Umph!" muttered Montoro, dismally. He did not at all like the alternative. "I would really rather that some one should put the rope round mine. But, by the bye, why do not you ask Cortes to let you have this new kind of honour yourself, pray? Why am I, of all people, to seek it?"
Alvarado lifted his dark eyebrows significantly enough.
"You know the answer, I dare swear, to your own question, Diego. To whom but yourself would our worthy commander be likely to grant such a favour, think you? He knows your feeling for the Indians, and may credit your willingness to avenge them; but for the rest of us—Ah! thou knowest."
Pedro de Alvarado was right enough. Hernan Cortes gave the desired order to Montoro to replace the executioners already appointed, and at the same time he declared very positively that he would have given it to no one else. Secretly, he was intensely astonished and disgusted with his friend for having asked the favour.
"Every man with a hobby is sure to ride it to death," he muttered angrily to Montejo. "Morla must hang, to win us the trust and good-will of the Indians for the present, that our progress towards Mexico be not further hindered or harassed. But to think of a Spaniard longing to kill a Spaniard, for the sake of a parcel of redskins! Faugh! Our Don Diego hath fallen a hundred-fold in our estimation."
That same poor Don Diego felt, foolishly enough, as if he had fallen a hundred-fold in his own estimation when he actually stood beside the condemned culprit, Morla, with the hangman's rope in his hand.