"No," Pedrito answered, thrusting the glass away, "it is not wine I thirst for, but blood."
The bombero wiped his dank forehead with the back of his hand, and said in a sharp, quick voice, which conveyed terror to the hearts of the three hearers—
"The Indians are coming down."
"Have you seen them?" the major asked.
"Yes," he replied hoarsely.
"When?"
"This morning."
"Far from here?"
"Twenty leagues."
"How many are they?"