The door opened suddenly. Sergeant Gonzales stopped in the middle of a sentence, and his blade stopped in the middle of an arc. And then the sergeant and the other soldiers snapped to attention, for the commandante was before them.
“Sergeant Gonzales!” Captain Ramón commanded.
“Sí!”
“I could hear you shouting half way across the plaza. If you wish to meet a pirate, perhaps you may have your wish. Rumors have been brought by natives. Mount your men and proceed along El Camino Real toward the south. Search the country well, once you are four or five miles from the town. It is a bright moonlight night, and men may be seen at a great distance.”
“It is an order!” the sergeant admitted.
“Leave but one man at the presidio as guard. Return before dawn. Have my best horse made ready, as I ride out to a hacienda for a visit. Go!”
“Sí!” Sergeant Gonzales grunted. He motioned to the soldiers, and they hurried through the door. He sheathed his sword, and when the back of Captain Ramón was turned for an instant he tossed off the wine that had been before him, and hurried after his men. The commandante drew off his gloves and sat at one of the tables.
Gonzales led the way across the plaza and toward the presidio. He was growling low down in his throat.
“This is a fine state of affairs!” he said. “Ride all night and kick up the dust! Back before dawn with nothing done!”
“But you wanted pirates,” the corporal protested.