“Yes, Captain.”
A diabolical laugh burst from the Jarochos, who had dismounted, and were standing out upon the cliff, the better to witness the spectacle of our hanging.
“Well, Lopez, does any of them say ‘yes’?”
“No, Captain.”
“Ask the Irishman there; ask him—he ought to be a good Catholic.”
The question was put to Chane, in mockery, of course, for it was impossible for him to answer it; and yet he did answer it, for his look spoke a curse as plainly as if it had been uttered through a trumpet. The Jarochos did not heed that, but only laughed the louder.
“Well, Lopez, what says Saint Patrick? ‘Yes’ or ‘no’?”
“‘No’, Captain.”
And a fresh peal of ruffian laughter rang out.
The rope was now placed around my neck in a running noose. The other end had been passed over the tree, and lay coiled near the edge of the cliff. Lopez held it in his hand a short distance above the coil, in order to direct its movements.