“What do you want with me?” he inquired, in the hope of obtaining some clue in the answer.
“Not much,” replied the spokesman of the party. “Only to nail your head in the place of that of Lantejas.”
“Lantejas!” exclaimed Don Cornelio, inspired with a fresh hope. “That is my name. It is I who am the insurgent Lantejas, sent here to Oajaca, by General Morelos.”
The declaration was received with a burst of savage laughter.
“Demonio!” cried one of the guerilleros, coming up with the horse of Don Cornelio, “I have had trouble enough in catching this accursed brute. It is to be hoped he carries something to repay me for it.”
Don Cornelio fancied he knew the tone of this voice, but he had no time to reflect upon where he had heard it, before its owner again cried out, “Alabado sea Dios! (Blessed be the Lord!) there is my cloak!”
Don Cornelio recognised the man who the day before had taken such a fancy to his cloak. In a word, the speaker was Gaspacho.
“What a lucky fellow I am to meet you again,” continued the brigand; “that cloak is much too large for you. I told you so yesterday.”
“Such as it is, it satisfies me,” meekly responded the Captain.
“Oh! nonsense,” rejoined Gaspacho, at the same time throwing off his own tattered scrape, and making a significant gesture to Don Cornelio to uncloak himself.