The adjutant obeys the first two of these directions; then, stepping out of the sala, leaves his superior officer alone.
Uraga glances around to assure himself that there are weapons within reach. With a conscience like his, a soul charged with crime, no wonder.
His sabre rests against the wall close to his hand, while a pair of dragoon pistols, both loaded, lie upon the table.
Satisfied with the proximity of these weapons, he sits upright in his chair and tranquilly awaits the entrance of the Indian.
Chapter Forty.
A Confidence Well Rewarded.
Only a short interval, a score of seconds elapses, when the door, once more opening, admits the expected visitor. The adjutant, after ushering him into the room, withdraws, and commences pacing to and fro in the patio.
Colonel Gil Uraga feels very much inclined to laugh as he contemplates the new-comer, and reflects on the precautions he has taken. A poor devil of an Indian peon, in coarse woollen tilma, tanned sheepskin trousers reaching only to the knee, bare legs below, guaraches upon his feet, and a straw hat upon his head; his long black hail hanging unkempt over his shoulders; his mien humble and looks downcast, like all of his tribe. Yet it might be seen that, on occasion, his eyes could flash forth a light, indicative of danger—a fierce, fiery light, such as may have shone in the orbs of his ancestors when they rallied around Guatimozin, and with clubs and stakes beat back the spears and swords of their Spanish invaders.