“Quien sabe?” (Who knows?) replied the first speaker. “Pinzon has been taken this morning at Puenta Moreno, with several others. They had a fandango with the Yankee dragoons. You know what the old man thinks of Pinzon. He’d sooner part with his wife.”
“You think he will exchange them, then?”
“It is not unlikely.”
“And yet he wouldn’t trouble much if you or I had been taken. No—no; he’d let us be hanged like dogs!”
“Well; that’s always the way, you know.”
“I begin to get tired of him. By the Virgin! José, I’ve half a mind to slip off and join the Padré.”
“Jarauta?”
“Yes; he’s by the Bridge, with a brave set of Jarochos—some of our old comrades upon the Rio Grande among them. They are living at free quarters along the road, and having gay times of it, I hear. If Jarauta had taken these Yankees yesterday, the zopiloté would have made his dinner upon them to-day.”
“That’s true,” rejoined the other; “but come—let us un-blind the devils and give them their beans. It may be the last they’ll ever eat.”
With this consoling remark, José commenced unbuckling our tapojos, and we once more looked upon the light. The brilliance at first dazzled us painfully, and it was some minutes before we could look steadily at the objects around us.