“And your companion? Is he, too, from Catalonia, or is he dumb?”
To that Pharaoh answered nothing. The monk turned his bright eyes on me.
“What is your business here?” he said, in very good English. “If you cannot speak to me in my tongue, I must talk with you in yours.”
“Answer him,” said Pharaoh. “There is no use in further concealment.”
“I see no reason why I should answer you, master,” said I, feeling somewhat nettled at the man’s peremptory tone. “What right have you to stop us in this fashion?”
He smiled again, if that could be called a smile which was simply a sudden flash of the eyes and a tightening of the thin lips, and looked round at his Indians.
“The right of force,” said he quietly. “You are two—we are many.”
“Two Englishmen are worth twenty Spanish devils,” said I sulkily.
“If it is to come to fighting,” said Pharaoh, gripping his cudgel.