“Doubt not, captain. I know the trick. I caught it in Italy.”
“Cierto! What thou knowest not about a gun is not worth the knowing,” Alvarado said; then to the page, “Dismount, lad, and take place with these. What we have ahead may require free man and free horse. Picaro! If anybody is killed, thou hast permission to use his arms. What say ye, compañeros mios?” he cried, facing the detachment. “What say ye? Here I bring one whom we thought roasted and eaten by the cannibals in the temples. Either he hath escaped by miracle, or they are not judges of bones good to mess upon. He is without arms. Will ye take care of him? I leave him my shield. Will ye take care of that also?”
And Najerra, the hunchback, replied, “The shield we will take, Señor; but—”
“But what?”
“Señor, may a Christian lawfully take what the infidels have refused?”
And they looked at Orteguilla, and laughed roundly,—the bold, confident adventurers; in the midst of the jollity, however, down the street came a sound deeper than that of the guns,—a sound of abysmal depth, like thunder, but without its continuity,—a divided, throbbing sound, such as has been heard in the throat of a volcano. Alvarado threw up his visor.
“What now?” asked Serrano, first to speak.
“One, two, three,—I have it!” the captain replied. “Count ye the strokes,—one, two, three. By the bones of the saints, the drum in the great temple! Forward, comrades! Our friends are in peril! If they are lost, so are we. Forward, in Christ’s name!”
Afterwards they became familiar with the sound; but now, heard the first time in battle, every man of them was affected. They moved off rapidly, and there was no jesting,—none of the grim wit with which old soldiers sometimes cover the nervousness preceding the primary plunge into a doubtful fight.
“Close the files. Be ready!” shouted Serrano.