Upon this man he began to try his arts.
"Good-morning, señor," said he, insinuatingly.
The man looked up in a surly way, and growled back something.
"Do you smoke?" asked Brooke.
The man grinned.
Upon this Brooke flung down a small piece of tobacco, and then began to address himself to further conversation. But alas for his hopes! He had just begun to ask where the others had gone and where the man belonged, when a flash burst forth, and a rifle ball sung past him through the window just above his head. It was one of the other ruffians who had done this, who at the same time advanced, and with an oath ordered Brooke to hold no communication with the men.
"I may stand at the window and look out, I suppose?" said Brooke, coolly.
"We have orders to allow no communication with the prisoners whatever. If you speak another word you'll get a bullet through you."
Upon this Brooke concluded that his plan was a failure.
Evening came at length, and the darkness deepened. The band were still absent. The men below were perfectly quiet, and seemed to be asleep.