"A truce to compliments, and let us come to the point, for time presses."
"Patience: I have not yet ended. These ideas must occur to you sooner than to another, as you are the descendant of the first Aztec kings, and born defender of the Indians in this hapless country. You see that I am well acquainted with you, Don Miguel Zarate."
"Too well, perhaps," the Mexican gentleman muttered.
The squatter smiled and went on:—
"It is not chance that led me to this country. I knew what I was doing, and why I came. Don Miguel, the hour is a solemn one. All your preparations are made: will you hesitate to give New Mexico the signal which must render it independent of the metropolis which has so long been fattening at its expense? Answer me."
Don Miguel started. He fixed on the squatter a burning glance, in which admiration at the man's language could be read. Red Cedar shrugged his shoulders.
"What! You still doubt?" he said.
He rose, went to a box from which he took some papers, and threw them on the table before the hacendero, saying,—
"Read."
Don Miguel hurriedly seized the papers, and ran his eye over them.