“Let me introduce you to my overseer, the Señor Smith, from Texas. He is an American and will be glad to meet one who can speak English, for, notwithstanding much practice, his Spanish is none of the best.”
The señor bowed, and the American desperado spoke to him in English, wearing a grin on his face like that of a wicked dog as he did so, though I do not know what he said. Then Don Pedro conducted his guest to a place of honour at the head of the table, that beside his own seat, while I was led to another table at a little distance, where my meat was served to me alone, since, as an Indian of pure blood, I was not thought fit for the company of these cross-bred curs. Don José having taken his place at the further end of the board with the Americano, the meal began, and an excellent one it was.
Now, in the conversation that ensued I took no part, except when members of the gang called to me to drink wine with them, for they desired to make me drunk; but while I pretended to be occupied with my meat, I thought much and watched more. The talk that passed I set down as I overheard it and as it was reported to me by the señor.
“Try some more of this Burgundy,” said Don Pedro when the dishes had been removed, filling his tumbler for the seventh or eighth time, “it is the right stuff, straight from France, though it never paid duty,” and he winked his leaden eye.
“Your health, señor, and may you live to do many such brave deeds as that of yesterday, when you saved my son from the sea. By the way, do you know that on board the Santa Maria they said that you had the evil eye and brought her to wreck;—yes, and your long-faced companion, the Indian, also?”
“Indeed, I never heard of it before,” answered the señor with a laugh; “but if so, our evil eyes shall not trouble you for long, as we propose to continue our journey to-morrow.”
“Nonsense, friend, nonsense, you don’t suppose that I believe in that sort of rubbish, do you? We say many things that we do not believe just for a joke; thus,” and he raised his voice so that I could hear him at my table, “your companion there—is he not named Ignatio?—told a story to my disadvantage on board the ship, which I am sure that he did not believe,” and suddenly he stared at me and added insolently: “Is it not so, Indian?”
“If you seek my opinion, Don Pedro,” I answered, leaning forward and speaking very clearly, “I say that it is unprofitable to repeat words that are said, or to remember deeds that are done with. If I spoke certain words, or if in the past you did certain deeds, here beneath your hospitable roof is not the place to recall them.”
“Quite so, Indian, quite so, you talk like an oracle, as Montezuma used to talk to Cortes till the Conqueror found a way to teach him plain speaking—a great man, Cortes, he understood how to deal with Indians.” Then he spat upon the floor and, having looked down the table, spoke to the señor in a somewhat anxious voice.
“Tell me,” he said, “for your sight is better than mine, how many are there present here to-night?”