The sergeant volleyed curses.
“What a soldier you would make, were you a loyal man!” he said, his outburst over.
“And, since I must dine and sleep, I intend to do it here,” the caballero went on.
“Hah! Sleep here, will you, caballero?”
“Si, in the presidio, sergeant mine. You think, perhaps, to get free of your bonds while I sleep, and capture me in turn? You must indeed have given little attention to what was transpiring.... Gentile, fetch wine and food from the rear room!... Why, sergeant mine, suppose I tell you that the blow has fallen, eh? Suppose I say that while you played with this Indian your soldiers have been slain in the hills, and the mission sacked and burned?
“Suppose I tell you that flame and steel are sweeping the coast to-night, and that around the wall of this presidio I have a hundred good men anxious to have your life and the lives of these two soldiers here? Suppose I merely had a fancy to capture the three of you single-handed and have a gentile tie you up? Eh? Think you I can sleep here to-night in security?”
“Renegade!” the sergeant cried.
“Why not give me thanks for entering alone and saving your life, instead of letting you be cut to pieces by hostiles?... Ah, you have the food and wine, gentile? Place them on the table!”
The caballero put the pistol back in his belt and drew off his gauntlets, and advanced toward the table, to draw up a stool and begin devouring the food. Neither of the soldiers spoke a word; Sergeant Cassara sputtered meaningless syllables in his wrath. Slowly, deliberately, the caballero ate his meat and bread and drank his wine, afterward dipping his hands into water the gentile fetched, and wiping them on his zarape.
“I have been thinking,” he said, “of having some amusement. What do you say, sergeant, to a game of cards?”