“You’ve neither the virtues of the Spaniard nor of the Carib, but the vices of both thrice compounded. Mongrel pigs, that’s what you are and all you are, the pair of you.”
“Are you through Senor?—quite through?” the Jefe queried softly.
At the same moment he gave a signal to the gendarmes, who sprang upon Henry from behind and disarmed him.
“Even the President of the Republic of Panama cannot pardon in anticipation of a crime not yet committed——am I right, judge?” said the Jefe.
“This is a fresh offense,” the judge took the cue promptly. “This Gringo dog has blasphemed against the law.”
“Then shall he be tried, and tried now, right here, immediately. We will not bother to go back and reopen court. We shall try him, and when we have disposed of him, we shall proceed. I have a very good bottle of wine——”
“I care not for wine,” the judge disclaimed hastily. “Mine shall be mescal. And in the meantime, and now, having been both witness and victim of the offense and there being no need of evidence further than what I already possess, I find the prisoner guilty. Is there anything you would suggest, Senor Mariano Vercara é Hijos?”
“Twenty-four hours in the stocks to cool his heated Gringo head,” the Jefe answered.
“Such is the sentence,” the judge affirmed, “to begin at once. Take the prisoner away, gendarmes, and put him in the stocks.”