“That is some joke, and it is too early in the morning for jokes with me. I’m too empty. What have Palomitas women to do with rights in Soledad?”
“I have not been told,” said Fidelio evasively. “It is a woman matter. But as to breakfast, it is making, and the tortillas already baking for you.”
“Order all ready, and a long stirrup for that leg,” said the general, moving it about experimentally. “It is not so bad, but Marto can ride fasting to Soledad for giving it to me.”
“But, my General, he asks–––”
“Who is he to ask? After yesterday, silence is best for him. Take him along. I will decide later if he is of further use––I may––need––a––man!”
There was something deliberately threatening in his slow speech, and the guards exchanged glances. Without doubt there would be executions at Soledad!
Rotil got off the cot awkwardly, but disdaining help from the guards hopped to a chair against the wall between the two windows.
Isidro came in with a bowl of water, and a much embroidered towel for the use of the distinguished guest, followed by a vaquero with smoking tortillas, and Tula with coffee.
The general eyed the ornate drawnwork of the linen with its cobweb fingers, and grinned.
“I am not a bridegroom this morning, muchachita, and need no necktie of such fineness for my beauty. Bring a plainer thing, or none.”