Roughly aroused from his meditations by this unexpected halt, the monk looked about for some obstacle that might impede his progress. About ten paces from him a man was standing right in the middle of the path. Fray Ambrosio was a man not easily to be frightened: besides, he was well armed. He drew out one of the pistols hidden under his gown, cocked it, and prepared to cross-question the person who so resolutely barred his way. But the latter, at the sharp sound of the setting hammer, thought it prudent to make himself known, and not await the consequences of an address nearly always stormy under similar circumstances.
"Halloh!" he shouted in a loud voice, "Return your pistol to your belt, Fray Ambrosio; I only want to talk with you."
"Diavolo!" the monk said, "the hour and moment are singularly chosen for a friendly conversation, my good fellow."
"Time belongs to nobody," the stranger answered sententiously. "I am obliged to choose that which I have at my disposal."
"That is true," the monk said as he quietly uncocked his pistol, though not returning it to his belt. "Who the deuce are you, and why are you so anxious to speak with me? Do you want to confess?
"Have you not recognised me yet, Fray Ambrosio? Must I tell you my name that you may know with whom you have to deal?"
"Needless, my good sir, needless; but how the deuce is it, Red Cedar, that I meet you here! What can you have so pressing to communicate to me?"
"You shall know if you will stop for a few moments and dismount."
"The deuce take you with your whims! Cannot you tell me that as well tomorrow! Night is getting on, my home is still some distance off and I am literally worn out."
"Bah! you will sleep capitally by the side of a ditch, where you could not be more comfortable. Besides, what I have to say to you does not admit of delay."