“Bah! soldado raso—Irlandes, carajo!” (A common soldier—an Irishman, too!) “What do you do fighting among these heretics against your own religion? There, renegade!” and he kicked the Irishman in the ribs.
“Thank yer honner!” said Chane, with a grunt, “small fayvours thankfully received; much good may it do yer honner!”
“Here, Lopez!” shouted the brigand.
“Now for the fire!” thought we.
“Lopez, I say!” continued he, calling louder.
“Aca, aca!” (here!) answered a voice, and the griffe who had guarded us came up, swinging his scarlet manga.
“Lopez, these I perceive are gentlemen of rank, and we must send them out of the world a little more gracefully, do you hear?”
“Yes, Captain,” answered the other, with stoical composure.
“Over the cliffs, Lopez. Facilis descensus Averni—but you don’t understand Latin, Lopez. Over the cliffs, do you hear? You understand that?”
“Yes, Captain,” repeated the Jarocho, moving only his lips.