“I have no objection to the thing—it would look well; but I shall not go myself. I don’t like being along with the fellow out there or anywhere else—you can understand that feeling, I suppose?”
Here the Comandante looked significantly at his companion.
“Oh! certainly—certainly,” replied the latter.
“You may take the troop; or, if you are not inclined, send Garcia or the sergeant with them.”
“I’ll go myself,” replied Roblado. “It will be safer. Should the cibolero incline to follow certain trails, I can lead him away from them, or refuse—yes it will be better for me to go myself. By my soul! I want to have a brush with these redskins. I hope to bring back some ‘hair,’ as they say. Ha ha! ha!”
“When would you start?”
“Instantly—the sooner the better. That will be more agreeable to all parties, and will prove our promptitude and patriotism. Ha! ha! ha!”
“You had better give the sergeant his orders to get the men ready, while I make our cibolero happy.”
Roblado hastened down from the azotea, and the next moment the bugle was heard sounding “boots and saddles.”