These, finding themselves in the presence of their chief, desisted for a moment from the attack—one of them crying out to Arroyo, that the Indian had poniarded their comrade Gaspacho.
“I did it to get back my own property,” replied Costal, “or rather that of Captain Lantejas; and here it is.”
In saying these words, the Zapoteque unwound from his left arm what had served him as a buckler, and which was now seen to be the cloak so inopportunely missing.
Don Cornelio seized it from him with an exclamation of joy, and at once plunged his hands into the pockets.
“Here are my proofs!” cried he, drawing out a number of papers, so stained with blood, fresh from the veins of the slain robber, as to be scarce legible. Enough, however, could be read to establish the identity of Don Cornelio and the authority under which he was acting.
The names of Morelos and Galeana in the midst of this band of brigands were, for him, like the whisper of the Lord to Daniel in the den of lions. Even the two ferocious leaders lowered their tone at the mention of these names, so universally feared and respected.
“You may go, then!” cried Arroyo, yielding reluctantly to the authority that had awed him; “but if you ever boast of the arrogant language you have used to me, Carajo!” and the brigand hissed out the infamous oath. “As for General Morelos,” he added, “you may say to him, that each of us fights according to his own way; and, notwithstanding his threats, I shall follow mine.”
Saying this, an order was issued to let the three prisoners pass free, after delivering up to them their arms and horses.
“Let six horsemen get ready to pursue this runaway Señora!” cried the bandit chief, as Don Cornelio and his companions were leaving the room. “Some one bridle my horse, and quickly. I shall go along with them, and you too, Bocardo.”
Bocardo made no reply, but not equally silent was Arroyo’s female companion.