“Who—who did it?” demanded Martin Alonzo, quivering with wrath.
“Why,” cried Diego, with sudden indignation, “would you make a spy of me? They all hate me now, though they have no cause. I will not give them cause. I have naught to say.”
He seemed to hear a murmur of approbation from the crew; but it died away as Martin Alonzo, in a voice hoarse with passion, cried:
“Have you naught to say? We shall see! Lopez! trice him up. Though he were my own son, he should not brave me so.”
Diego understood the meaning of that—they were going to flog him. Alas! it was a common enough thing in those brutal days. Diego turned paler than before, but he looked into the angry face of his cousin and said:
“And this is how you keep your promise to my mother!”
“Will you tell?”
“I have naught to tell.”
“Then you shall be flogged.”