“And may have it again one day, sergeant.... Gentile, take the second soldier now, and when you have bound them, make them sit on their stools, and tie their legs. We are to have some conversation, and I cannot watch three men well and talk at the same time.”
The Indian went about his work gladly, remembering the many beatings he had received, and groans from his victims told that he was careful to make the bonds tight enough. Watching the sergeant as a hawk watches its prey, never letting the muzzle of his pistol waver, the caballero stood just inside the door, smiling, humming a bit of song. In time the two soldiers were bound to their stools, and the Indian stood to one side.
“Get more thongs, gentile,” the caballero ordered. “Make them strong for the sergeant here.”
“You dare to order a dog of a gentile to tie me up like a pig?” Cassara cried.
“I pay you the compliment of considering you too dangerous to be allowed free, soldier.... At your work, gentile, and fear not. A move from the man will send a bullet tumbling into his heart. Lash his hands well!”
If looks could have killed, the caballero was a dead man already. Sergeant Cassara’s eyes flamed, his lower jaw shot out, his face turned purple in rage. But he made no move while his hands were being fastened securely, for the caballero was not smiling now, and the sergeant knew he could expect a shot if he made a move. But he could talk!
“Caballero,” he said, “for this you shall die! If ever I am free and stand before you, I’ll have your life if I am forced to take it with my bare hands!”
“You are bloodthirsty, señor.”
“May I live to be the laughing-stock of El Camino Real if I do not wipe out this insult you have put upon me!”
“You have orders to take me dead or alive, have you not?”