"Cowards, demons!" the Mexican yelled, as he made a superhuman effort to rise and burst his bonds; "show yourself, at least, so that I may know with whom I have to deal."
"Silence! General Don Sebastian Guerrero," a rough voice said to him, whose accent made him start, in spite of all his courage; "resign yourself to your fate, for you have fallen into the power of men who will not liberate you till they have had a thorough explanation with you."
General Guerrero, whom the readers of the "Indian Chief" will doubtless remember, made a movement of impotent rage, but he was silent; he perceived that the originators of the snare of which he was a victim were implacable enemies, as they had not feared to call him by his name, and more formidable than the pirates of the prairies or the redskins, with whom he at first thought he had to deal. Moreover, he thought that the darkness that surrounded him would soon cease, and then he would see his enemies face to face, and recognize them.
But his expectations were deceived. When his conquerors had borne him to the hall, where his peons were disarmed and guarded by peons, he saw, by the light of the torch that faintly illumined the hall, that among the men who surrounded him few wore the Mexican costume, it was true, but had their faces hidden by a piece of black crape, forming a species of mask, and so well fastened round their necks, that it was entirely impossible to recognize them.
"What do these men want with me?" he muttered as he let his head fall on his chest sadly.
"Patience!" said the man who had already spoken, and who overheard the general's remark, "you will soon know."
[CHAPTER VII.]
THE EXPLANATION.
There was a short delay, during which the conquerors appeared to be consulting together in a low voice; while doing so, an Indian chief, who was no other than the Jester, entered the hall, and uttered a few words in Comanche.