"Yes, mi amo," the peon answered laconically.
The two friends exchanged a parting salutation; the Tigrero mounted, and followed Pilloto, while the capataz re-entered the house and closed the door after him. After numberless turnings and windings, the rider and the footman at length entered a street which, from its width, the Tigrero suspected to form part of the fashionable quarter.
"This is the Secunda Monterilla," said the peon, "and that gentleman," he added, pointing to a horseman who was coming toward them, followed by three footmen also mounted, and well-armed, "is the very Don Antonio you are looking for."
"You are sure of it?" the Tigrero asked.
"Caray! I know him well."
"If that is the case, accept this piastre, my friend, and go home, for I no longer need your services."
The peon bowed and retired. During the conversation the newcomer had halted in evident alarm.
"'Tis I, Don Antonio," the Tigrero shouted to him. "Come on without fear—I am a friend."
"Oh, oh! it is very late to meet a friend in the street," Don Antonio answered, though he advanced without hesitation, after laying his hand on his weapon to guard against a surprise.
"I am Martial, the Tigrero."