Juan consulted Iron Shirt with a glance and then nodded carelessly.
"Let me have Garcia before me, my alférez."
He stepped to the opening, and blew a silver whistle hanging by a chain of the same metal around his long neck. Presently, the Mexican whom he thus summoned came striding to his commander.
"Stefano," said the latter, loudly enough for the others to hear, "I believe you are devoted to me?"
"I ought to be," was the answer, "for I should have been hanged three months ago but for your honour plucking me out of the calaboose of Concha Village. Since then I have been your trustiest lieutenant, I take it."
"You have. Well, I am going on a forlorn hope, but a brave man thinks nothing of risking his life when the reward is great. I am going almost alone into the hacienda, with our Apache brothers, under the guidance of our faithful peon yonder."
"Ah!" cried the ex-banker, incredulously.
"I shall be in the heart of the fortalice, in the gardens, where the ladies recreate out of the reach of arrows, but not safe from the ball from our cannon. Now, as a gallant gentleman, Stefano, do not, in aiming at the house, fling your ball in among the dames."
"I won't, Captain, all the less likely, as I mean to aim at the building low down. The ball will play prettily with the foundation stone and the don's imported Spanish wines—more the pity."
"Then, if the ladies are safe," began the Mexican, relieved partly of his fears, "there's no more to be said."