There was a long silence after these words of Don Torribio. The vaqueros, with their eyes fixed on him, endeavoured to guess his thoughts from the play of his features. But Don Torribio's face, cold and rigid as a block of marble, gave no signs of the thoughts within. At last, after casting a glance of suspicion around, more from habit than from any fear of being overheard, he rolled a cigarette, lit it with the greatest coolness, and began to speak in a careless tone.
"My good verado, I am truly sorry that you have taken these honourable caballeros from their vocations, and put yourself to inconvenience, in order to repair to the place I had appointed."
"Why so, señor?" asked the verado, perfectly puzzled by this commencement.
"For a very simple reason, señor,—because the motives no longer exist which induced me to wish to confer with you."
"What!" cried all the rogues together; "Can that be possible?"
"Oh, yes!" he replied coolly; "All things considered, Don Fernando Carril is a charming caballero. I should be in despair if I caused him the slightest inconvenience."
"Diablo! not quite so charming!" observed the verado; "The fellow who ordered Carlocho to kill me quietly!"
"It was not to me, dear friend," said Carlocho, with great suavity, "but to Don Pablito here, that Señor Don Fernando gave the order."
"You are right; I made a mistake. Accept my excuses, señor."
After this exchange of courtesy, the two bandits again grew silent.