He had been long enough in the gaol-governor’s charge to know the latter’s name, and was accustomed to address him thus familiarly. The deformed creature was fearless from his very deformity, which in a way gave him protection.
“Vayate Zorillo,” returned the Governor, slightly put out and evidently a little nettled, “you’re too fond of jesting—or trying. I’ll take that out of you, and I mean to give you a lesson in good manners this very day.” Then fixing his eyes upon Rivas, he added: “Señor Don Ruperto, I should be only too happy to let you off from the little excursion your prison companions are about to make and save you the fatigue. But my orders are rigorous. They come from the highest quarter, and I dare not disobey them.”
This was all pure irony, intended but to torment him; at least so the robber seemed to understand it. For, instead of accepting it in a friendly sense, he turned savagely on his tormentor, hissing out:
“I know you daren’t disobey them, dog that you are! Only such as you would be governor of a gaol like this: you, who turned coat and disgraced the sword you wore at Zacatecas. Do your worst, Don Pedro Arias! I defy you.”
“Cascaras! how swelling big you talk, Señor Captain Rivas! Ah! well. I’ll let a little of the wind out of you too, before you bid good-bye to the Acordada. Even the Condesa, grand dame though she is, won’t be able to get you clear of my clutches so easy as you may be thinking. La Garrota is the lady likeliest to do that.”
After thus spitefully delivering himself, he called to some prison warders in waiting in the court outside, and commanded them to come up to him.
“Here,” he directed, “take these two pairs and hand them over to the guard at the gate. You know what for, Dominguez?” The half interrogatory was addressed to a big, hulking fellow, chief of the turnkeys, who looked all Acordada.
“Por cierto, Señor Gobernador,” he rejoined with a significant look, after giving the prison salute to his superior. “I know all about it.”
“See, moreover, that they be kept all day at it; that’s my orders.”
“Sure will I, Señor,” was the compliant rejoinder.