"How now, my gay senor soldado!" said Narvaez with a chuckling laugh, after they had glared at each other in silence for a few seconds. "Methinks we have met at last, under circumstances somewhat disadvantageous to your safety."
Ronald's only reply was a frantic attempt to free himself from the iron grasp of the other.
"Be still,—carajo!" said the ruffian as he unsheathed a poniard; "be still, or I may mercifully give a deep stroke at once, without having the little conversation I wish to enjoy with you, before you die."
"Dog of a robber!—dog of a Spaniard!" gasped Ronald in a hoarse accent. "Free but my right hand and, weak and exhausted as I am, I will meet you—"
"Ho, Demonios! a rare request! Par Diez! no, no, mi amigo. I will have these bright epaulets, (which I beg you will not spoil by struggling so,) and I will have this golden cross and other things, without either the risk or trouble of trying points with you. Hah! have you forgotten the night when we first met at Albuquerque? By our Lady of Majorga, you shall this night know that I have not! We have many odd scores to pay off, and they may as well be settled here on the field of Vittoria, as elsewhere. Besides, Senor Valour, when your corpse is found, you will be mentioned among the killed in the Gaceta de la Regencia. Hah! hah!"
"Wretch! you forget that this day my blood has been shed for Spain and Ferdinand VII.!"
"You have been paid for that, I suppose," replied the fellow, accompanying his observation, which might have suited a British radical, with an insultng laugh, while Stuart, panted with rage.
"Now, then,—what would you do were you released by me?"
"Stab you to the heart!"
The robber laughed.