“That the Colonel may see us before we discover him?” interrupted his companion.
“Bah! nothing of the kind,” rejoined Pepe; “that devil of a royalist is not to be found. What I was thinking of is, that, since it is almost as clear as daylight, there’s a good opportunity for your showing me that which you have so long promised.”
“What is it, camarado?”
“The trick of cards by which one may always win an albur at monte.”
“Of course I cannot show you without having the cards.”
“But I have them, hombre—a brand-new pack too.”
“Ah! it is easier to do that trick with an old pack,” replied Pepe’s comrade with a knowing shrug of the shoulders. “However, since I have promised you, and, as you justly remark, there is no chance of finding this royalist colonel, I agree to your request.”
The two insurgents seated themselves on the turf—in a spot where the moon fell with a clear light—and Pepe Lobos, having drawn a pack of cards from his pocket, the lesson commenced. Between the ardour of the master and the docility of the pupil, the lesson was prolonged to such a time, that the Colonel, asleep between his two branches, could have dreamt all the dreams that might present themselves to his imagination before either of these worthies was likely to awaken him.
Not far distant two others of the searchers put in practice, as regards Don Rafael, a very similar courtesy.
“So, Suarez,” said the first of these two to the other, “five hundred dollars, isn’t it, that the Captain promises the man who may take this royalist colonel alive?”