“The store for the horses is out; we fed them to-night from the rations of the men. I gave Motilla half of mine, and yet she is hungry.”
At these words, the hand Olmedo was nursing closed, despite its wound, as upon a sword-hilt, vice-like, and up the master arose, brow and cheek gray as if powdered with ashes, and began to walk the floor furiously; at last he stopped abruptly:—
“Sandoval, go bid the captains come. I would have their opinions as to what we should do. Omit none of them. Those who say nothing may be witnesses hereafter.”
The order was given quietly, with a smile even. A moment the captain studied his leader’s face, and I would not say he did not understand the meaning of the simple words; for of him Cortes afterwards said, “He is fit to command great armies.”
Cortes sat down, and held out the hand for Olmedo’s ministrations; but the father touched him caressingly, and said, when Sandoval was gone,—
“I commend thee, son, with all my soul. Men are never so much on trial as when they stand face to face with necessity; the weak fight it, and fall; the wise accept it as a servant. So do thou now.”
Cortes’ countenance became chill and sullen. “I cannot see the necessity—”
“Good!” exclaimed Olmedo. “Whatsoever thou dost, hold fast to that. The captains will tell thee otherwise, but—”
“What?” asked Cortes, with a sneer. “The treasure is vast,—a million pesos or more. Dost thou believe they will go and leave it?”
But Olmedo was intent upon his own thought.