"Enough," he said in a harsh voice. "We understand one another, my master. Do not play that game with me, for you will be sick of it, I warn you."
The monk fell back on his seat, without the strength to make a sign or utter a syllable. The squatter regarded him for a moment with mingled pity and contempt and shrugged his shoulders.
"For sixteen years I have held that secret," he said, "and it has never passed my lips. I will continue to keep silence on one condition."
"What is it?"
"I want you to help me in carrying off the hacendero's daughter."
"I will do it."
"Mind, I expect honest assistance; so do not attempt any treachery."
"I will help you, I tell you."
"Good! I count on your word. Besides you may be easy, master; I will watch you."
"Enough of threats. What is to be done?"