"This moment,—you understand, this moment, Señor, you will confess to me, where the man is who gave you this letter, if not—"
"Well?" the American nominally interrupted.
"Within ten minutes you will be hanging from a branch of that tree, close to you."
Davis gave him a disdainful glance.
"On my soul," he said ironically, "you Mexicans have a strange way of treating envoys."
"I do not recognise the right of a scoundrel, who is outlawed for his crimes, and whose head is justly forfeited, to send me envoys, and treat with me on an equal footing."
"The man whom you seek in vain to brand, General, is a man of heart, as you know better than anybody else. But gratitude is as offensive to you as it is to all haughty minds, and you cannot forgive the person to whom we allude, for having saved, not only your life, but also your honour."
John Davis might have gone on speaking much longer, for the General, who was as pale as a corpse, and whose features were contracted by a terrible emotion he sought in vain to master, seemed incapable of uttering a syllable. Colonel Melendez had quietly approached the circle. For some minutes he had listened to the words the speakers interchanged, with gradually augmenting passion; judging it necessary, therefore, to interpose ere matters had reached such a point as rendered any hope of conciliation impossible, he said to John Davis, as he laid his hand on his shoulder:
"Silence! You are under the lion's claw, take care that it does not rend you."
"Under the tiger's claw you mean, Colonel Melendez," he exclaimed, with much animation. "What! Shall I listen calmly to an insult offered the noblest heart, the greatest man, the most devoted and sincere patriot, and not attempt to defend him and confound his calumniator? Come, Colonel, that would be cowardice, and you know me well enough to feel assured that no consideration of personal safety would force me to do so."