“Oh! that I were free to avenge you!” gasped the girl as she strained and tore at the ropes which held her.
‘Oh! that I were free to avenge you!’
“Don’t be in a hurry, my love,” sneered Don José, “wait a while and you will have yourself to avenge as well as your father. If he won’t speak I think we can find a way to make you talk, only I do not want to be rough with you unless I am forced to it. You are too pretty, much too pretty.”
The girl shivered, gasping with fear and hate, and was silent.
“What shall we try him with now?” he went on, addressing Don Pedro; “hot steel or cold? Make up your mind, for I am growing tired. Well, if you won’t, just hand me that machete, will you? Now, friend,” he said, addressing the Indian, “for the last time I ask you to tell us where is that temple full of gold, of which you spoke to your daughter in my father’s hearing?”
“There is no such place, white man,” he answered sullenly.
“Indeed, friend! Then will you explain where you found those little ingots, which we captured from the Indian who had been visiting you, and whence came this machete?” and he pointed to the weapon in his hand.
It was a sword of great beauty, as I could see even from where we stood, made not of steel, but of hardened copper, and having for a handle a female figure with outstretched arms fashioned in solid gold.
“The machete was given to me by a friend,” said the Indian, “I do not know where he got it.”