“Tapado?” echoed several.
“With black crape! It was only on my last trip but one up the country. I went with the recua of José Villares. He carried goods for that English house—you know—in the Calle do Mercaderos. Well, we were stopped at the Pinal, between Peroté and Puebla; every mule stripped of its carga; and every man of us, with José himself obliged to lie with our mouths to the grass, till the rascals had rifled the recua. They took only what was most valuable and easiest carried; but, carrambo! it well nigh ruined poor José; he has never been the same aniero since.”
“What of all that, hombre?” inquired one, who seemed to be still unsatisfied. “What has that to do with the Capitan Rayas?”
“Ah! I forgot,” said the accuser; “it was of the Capitan Rayas we were speaking. Well, it has this to do with him. The salteadores were all tapado, with black crape over their faces, their captain like the rest; but while he was engaged examining some papers he took from José, I caught a glance of his ugly countenance—just enough to know it again. If it wasn’t the same I saw the other day when I met this Rayas in the camp, then I don’t know chingarito from holy water. I’ll answer for it from the chin up to the eyes. Above that I didn’t see it, for the tapado was over it.”
“Bah!” exclaimed one of the men, who appeared to be of easy conscience himself; “what if the Capitan Rayas has done a little business on the road? There are officers in our army of higher rank than he who’ve cried out, ‘Boca abajo!’—ay, some that are now generals!”
“Hush, camarade!” interrupted one who stood nearest the speaker. “See, the medico’s coming out. Guardate, guardate! it’s treason you’re talking!”
The interest with which I had listened to this singular palaver, had hindered me from entering the tent. The men had spoken loud enough for me to overhear every word—no doubt under the supposition that I did not understand their language—and to keep them in this belief, I had made pretence of being engaged in a whispering conversation with one of my own troopers who stood near.
As the return of the medico put an end to the talking of his attendants, I advanced to meet him, and inquired the condition of his patient.
“Thanks to your care, cavallero, he is out of danger from his wound. But from what he has confided to me—and to you also, I believe—he will be in danger of another kind by remaining in this place.”
I could tell from this speech that Calros had communicated to the surgeon the incidents of the preceding night.