His heart was wrung with grief and disappointment. This hacienda of Las Palmas, where two months before he had been the honoured guest, now sheltered the enemies that were thirsting for his blood.
These, after their unsuccessful attempt to possess themselves of the person of Don Rafael, hastened back towards the entrance of the building.
“You stupid sot!” exclaimed one of them, speaking in angry tones, and addressing a companion by his side; “why did you not allow him to get into the hacienda? Once inside, we should have had him at our mercy, and then— Carajo!”
The speaker, a man of ferocious and brutal aspect, here made a gesture of fearful meaning, as an appropriate finish to his speech.
“Don Mariano would not have permitted it,” rejoined the other, by way of excusing himself for having been the cause of the dragoon officer’s escape. “Once under his roof, he would never have consented to our molesting him.”
“Bah!” exclaimed the first speaker. “It’s past the time when we require to ask Don Mariano’s permission. We are no longer his servants. The time is come when the servants shall be the masters, and the masters the servants, Carajo! What care I for the emancipation of the country? What I care for is blood and plunder.”
The fierce joy that blazed in the eyes of the speaker as he pronounced the last words, told too plainly that these were his veritable sentiments.
The second of the two brigands who, though smaller in size and of a more astute expression of countenance, was equally characterised by an aspect of brutal ferocity—for a moment appeared to quail before the indignation of his companion.
“Carajo!” continued the first, “we have got to shift our quarters. If that furious captain finds out that we are here, he will set fire to the four corners of the hacienda, and roast us alive in it. Fool that I was to listen to you!”
“Who could have foreseen that he would get off so?” said the lesser man, still endeavouring to excuse himself.