At this same instant a bang on the oak from a large pistol butt—so high up that it revealed it was held in the hand of a giant or a man on horseback, who had his reasons for not dismounting—fairly shook the massive door.
"Landlord, go challenge the newcomer," said Oliver.
Tío Camote, however reluctant, was forced to obey. A second blow quickened his step, and he even smiled as if the peculiarity of its stroke were a well-known signal. He, therefore, opened the trap pretty trustfully.
A long hooknose, scarred in the middle, and a pair of gleaming eyes in a rather bloated face appeared at the little square hole.
"It is I, the captain," said a harsh voice with a shrill twang, testily. "We have brushed the brown skins afar, and we want refreshment."
"The captain," cried Sweet Potato, falling back.
"Well," said Oliver, "who's the captain?"
"Pedrillo! El Manco!" breathed the innkeeper, in awe.
"Speak up, you ass!"
"Captain Pedrillo el Manco," repeated the bar tender.