“The hacienda Del Valle—what other should it be? There our men—the greater number of them at least—have been besieging it for three days without any result. No, not without result, for I’ve just this moment learnt that three of our people have been killed in a sortie, and that this accursed Catalan, who commands the place, has nailed their heads over the door of the hacienda!”
“Who has told you this?” quickly demanded Arroyo.
“Gaspacho. He is outside awaiting your orders. He has been sent to ask for a reinforcement.”
“By all the devils!” cried Arroyo in a rage. “Woman! who has given you the privilege of interrogating the couriers that are sent me?”
As he put this interrogatory the brigand sprang to his feet; and, seizing the bullock’s skull upon which he had been seated, made a motion as if he would crush with it that of his amazonian partner. Perhaps, influenced by the late councils of Bocardo, he would have decided on bearing the public execration upon his own shoulders, had it not been for that scapulary blessed by the Pope, and whose fatal influence he at the moment remembered.
Bocardo paid no attention to the threatening demonstration of his associate, but sat phlegmatically silent.
“Maria Santissima!” exclaimed the virago, as she retreated before the angry menace of her husband. “Will you not protect me, Señor Bocardo?”
“Hum!” replied the latter, without moving from his seat, “you know the proverb, worthy Señora? Between the tree and the bark—you understand? These little domestic broils—”
“Must not occur any more,” interposed Arroyo, quieting down; “and now, Señora,” continued he, addressing himself to his helpmate, “before receiving Gaspacho, I have a commission for you to execute.”
“What may that be?” brusquely demanded the woman, elevating her tone in proportion as that of her husband became lowered.