“A criminal? The pilot? You must be mistaken!” replied Ibarra.
“No, sir; that Elias is now accused of another crime, of having laid his hands on a priest——”
“Ah! And is the pilot the one?”
“He is the same one, so we are told. You are allowing people of bad reputation to attend your festivals, Señor Ibarra.”
Ibarra looked at him from head to foot and replied with supreme contempt: “I don’t have to account to you for my actions. At our festivals everybody is well received, and you yourself, if you had come, would have been given a seat at the table, the same as the alferez who was here among us two hours ago.”
Saying this, Ibarra turned his back to him. The sergeant bit his mustache and ordered his men to search everywhere among the trees for the pilot, whose description he had on a piece of paper.
Don Filipo said to him: “Take note that this description corresponds to that of nine-tenths of the natives. Take care that you do not make a mistake!”
At last the soldiers returned, saying that they had not been able to discover either a banca, or a man that aroused their suspicion. The sergeant murmured a few indistinct words and then marched off.
Soon the people became jolly again, but questions, wonder and comments were without end.
So the afternoon passed and the hour for departure arrived. Just as the sun was dropping below the horizon they left the woods. The trees seemed sad and all the surroundings seemed to bid them farewell and say: “Good-bye, happy youth; good-bye, dream of a day.”