Urrea smiled and held up his hands. He was all sympathy and generosity.
"All your troubles will be over to-morrow," he said, "and it is fitting that they should end on such a day, because it is Palm Sunday."
The recruits gave a cheer.
"Do we go down to the coast?" one of them asked.
Urrea smiled with his whole face, and with the gesture of his hands, too. But he shook his head.
"I can say no more," he replied. "I am not the general, and perhaps I have said too much already, but be assured, brave foes, that to-morrow will end your troubles. You fought us gallantly. You fought against great odds, and you have my sympathy."
Ned had said no more. He was looking at Urrea intently. He was trying, with all the power of his own mind and soul, to read this man's mind and soul. He was trying to pierce through that Spanish armor of smiles and gestures and silky tones and see what lay beneath. He sought to read the real meaning of all these polite phrases. His long and powerful gaze finally drew Urrea's own.
A little look of fear crept into Urrea's eyes, as the two antagonists stared at each other. But it was only for a few minutes. Then he looked away with a shrug and a laugh.
"Now I leave you," he said to the men, "and may the
saints bring you much happiness. Do not forget that to-morrow is Palm Sunday, and that it is a good omen."