For half an hour he waited, grumbling his impatience. Then there came to him a figure muffled in a long cloak. Barbados hissed a word that had been agreed upon. The figure stepped quickly to his side.
“You are ready?”
“Ready, señor,” Barbados replied.
“Where are your men?”
“In hiding three hundred yards away, señor.”
“It were best to strike in about an hour. The soldiers will be sent toward the south on a wild goose chase.”
“I understand, señor.”
“I ride back toward the hills to a hacienda to pay a social call. It would not do for me to be here, of course.”
“Certainly not, señor.”
“The way will be open to you. Take your will with the town, but do not use the torch, except it be on the hut of some native. As soon as you have your loot, make for the sea again. The soldiers will be sent on a useless trail.”