“This worthy man,” began the official in black, “complains of your violence, too....”
“This worthy man,” I shouted stupidly, “is a pirate. He is a Rio Medio Lugareño. He is a criminal.”
The official seemed astounded, and I saw my idiotic mistake at once—too late!
“Strange,” he murmured, and, at the same time, the ruffianly wretch began to shout:
“It is he! The traitor! The heretic! I recognize him!”
“Peace, peace!” said the man in black.
“I demand to be taken before the Juez Don Patricio for a deposition,” shrieked the Lugareño. A crowd was beginning to collect.
The official and the officer exchanged consulting glances. At a word from the latter, the soldiers closed upon me.
I felt utterly overcome, as if the earth had crumbled under my feet, and the heavens had been rent in twain.
I walked between my captors across the street amongst hooting knots of people, and up the steps of the portico, as if in a frightful dream.