“Keep off, boy!” said Xoli, himself at a respectable distance. “Trust it not; such things do not die.”
Never speech more opportune for the Tihuancan.
“Be it of the earth or Sun, I tell you, friends, it is dead,” he replied, more loudly. “Who knows but that the holy Huitzil’ has set it up here to be seen of all of us, that we may know Malinche is not a god. Is there one among you who has a javelin?”
A weapon was passed to him over the heads of the fast increasing crowd.
“Stand aside! I will see.”
Without more ado, the adventurer thrust deep in the horse’s flank. Those directly about held their breath from fear; and when the brute stirred not, they looked at each other, not knowing what to say. That it was dead, was past doubt.
“Who will gainsay me now?” continued Hualpa. “It is dead, and so is he to whom yon head belonged. Gods fall not so low.”
It was one of those moments when simple minds are easily converted to any belief.
“Gods they are not,” said a voice in the throng; “but whence came they?”
“And who put them here?” asked another.