"This lady," continued the master, "is our passenger, you are answerable for her being treated with the utmost deference, and the greatest attention by all the crew. We'll fashion a cabin for her hereabouts. All the men are forbidden to enter here under any pretence whatever. Do'ye hear, Master Ignacio?"
"Yes."
"Then what the mischief are you staring for?"
"Ha, Señora Vázquez?" he repeated. "Surely I behold with admiration dazed eyes the incomparable daughter of the martial hacendero, don José de Miranda."
"Eh! How now, what do you know of the lady?"
"Only that she was the chosen bride of his Excellency, don Aníbal Cristobal."
"Eh? Why, of course!"
"And that illustrious scoundrel," went on the late lieutenant of banditti, with a refreshing air of morality, "after having had the poor don tracked to his death by the venomous Apache, to whom I owe my brother's loss—one to him! A thousand devils pull at him—the captain not my lamented Pepillo—after all that show of hatred to him who took the lady out of his clutches, don Aníbal will not allow the double removal unimpeded, I'll wager you a thousand ounces against one poor, old, worn dollar, of the señorita and his dear Burlonilla."
"Indeed! We'll see about that."
The speaker marked a curious mixture of fear and doubt flit across the visage of Ignacio.