"Ah! Ah!" he said, with an ironical grin; "Each his turn, caballeros. I believe that I am at this moment master of the situation, and in a position to offer conditions."
The count, without being in the slightest degree disconcerted, drew a few paces nearer.
"Take care of what you are going to do, señor," he replied; "a treaty was loyally concluded between your chief and us. Any infraction of that treaty would be an act of treachery, and the dishonour would fall on your chief."
"Good!" don Melchior retorted; "We are partizans, and carry on war in our fashion, without troubling ourselves about what people may think. Instead of entering into an idle discussion, which would not be favourable to you, I fancy it would be more sensible to inform you on what conditions I will consent to let you pass."
"Conditions! We will not accept a single one, caballero; and if you do not consent to let us pass, we may compel you to do so, however serious the consequences of a struggle may be for both of us."
"Try it!" he replied, with an ironical smile.
"We are going to do so."
Don Melchior shrugged his shoulders, and turning to his partizans, shouted—
"Fire!"
A frightful detonation was heard, and a shower of bullets hustled round the little party.