"At the same time," murmured Montoro to a companion late that night, as he paced the courtyard of the Spanish encampment—"at the same time, methinks, these poor creatures can but credit us with the cruel insolence of strength, which has destroyed their idols to make way for our own. They had a cross which they adored; we have cast it down to erect our own. They had idols which they reverenced; we have burnt their images but to set up another."
"Even so," replied the good priest, in the same low tones. "My fears go with your thoughts—that they must have strange doubts as to our honesty."
"We preach against idols, and yet have them," added Montoro. "I wonder if our work this day has done much good for the salvation of souls?"
"It has done some good for the salvation of bodies, at any rate," broke in Juan de Cabrera from his sentry post, opposite to which the two friends had paused in the interest of their conversation. "It is thanks wholly and solely to thee, all throughout, Toro, that that hapless little company of babies is alive to-night. And so, my long-faced friend, instead of looking solemn as an old crow, thou shouldst be the merriest fellow in the company."
"Ho, there!" cried the voice of a fourth comer on the scene. "Who talks of merriment, I would know, forsooth, at this sleepy hour of the night, and with never an honest bit of gambling allowed to pass the watch hours by. For my part, I feel glum as a sulky bear."
"Then keep thy distance," was the retort. "For this sultry weather makes me suspicious that my bones may be in a dried-up state, and somewhat too easily crackable, my very esteemed Señor Velasquez de Leon."
Montoro laughed.
"Didst say, Juan, bones or brains were crackable?"
"Both—or meant to," said the young man. "My bones, and Leon's brains. But come, Leon, hast thou not come to relieve guard? for that Toro there, thief that he is, robbed me of my rest last night, and I shall fall asleep on the march to-morrow."
"Better not," replied Velasquez, with a warning shake of the head. "Be advised in time, lest thou mightest get left behind, and then thou wouldst assuredly be raised by the Totonac priests to the honour of the post of one of their lost gods. Thy beauty matches to a marvel that of their striking god of war."