"What!" the hacendero continued with increased fury, "They would really attempt resistance! Why, they must be mad!"
"Not so much as you suppose, mi amo; the aldea is large and contains at least three thousand callis."
"What matter? Suppose there were twice as many, is not one Spaniard as good as ten Indians?"
"In the open, perhaps so."
"What is that you say—perhaps?" Don Aníbal exclaimed, turning sharply round, and giving his majordomo a glance of supreme contempt. "Really, Sotavento, your Indian origin involuntarily abuses your judgment by making you regard things differently from what they really are."
"No, mi amo. The Indian origin with which you reproach me, on the contrary, makes me judge the situation healthily; and, believe me, it is far more serious than you imagine."
These words were uttered in a serious tone, which caused the proud Spaniard to reflect.
Pedro Sotavento had been in his service for a long time. He knew that he was brave and incapable of being intimidated by threats or rodomontade. Moreover, he had always been kind to him, and believed himself sure of his devotion, hence he continued in a milder key—
"That is the reason, then, why you insisted so strongly on my taking an escort when we passed the Fort of Agua Verde?"
"Yes, mi amo," he replied, giving the soldiers a glance of singular expression. "I should have liked it to be more numerous."