"Within an hour you will be dead—shot like a traitor and bandit!" Melchior exclaimed.
Don Adolfo shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
"It is evident," don Diego observed, "that this man will be shot; but the president alone has the right of deciding his fate, as he declares that he is a Frenchman."
"Why all the demons seem to belong to that accursed race!" don Melchior exclaimed, quite disconcerted.
"Well, really I cannot tell you exactly; as regards this man, as he is a daring fellow, and you might be considerably embarrassed by him, I will send him to the president under a separate escort."
"No, no, if you wish to do me a service; let me take him with me; do not be alarmed, I will take such precautions, that, clever as he is, he shall not escape me; still, it will be as well to disarm him."
The adventurer silently handed his weapons to don Diego. At this moment a footman came in, and announced that the escort was waiting in the street.
"Very good," said Melchior, "let us be off."
The servant gave his master a machete, a brace of pistols, and a sarape, and buckled on his spurs.
"Now we can start," said don Melchior.