“Don’t keep me in suspense, camarado! your plan! your plan!”
“Stop till I’ve had a gulp of wine. The very thought of such a glorious trick makes me thirsty.”
“Drink then, drink!” cried Vizcarra, filling out the wine, with a look of pleasant anticipation.
Roblado emptied the goblet at a draught, and then, leaning nearer to the Comandante, he detailed what he had conceived in a low and confidential tone. It seemed to satisfy his listener, who, when the other had finished, uttered the word “Bravo!” and sprang to his feet like one who had received some joyful news. He walked back and forth for some minutes in an excited manner, and then, bursting into a loud laugh, he cried out, “Carrambo, comrade! you are a tactician! The great Conde himself would not have shown such strategy. Santisima Virgen! it is the very master-stroke of design; and I promise you, camarado, it shall have speedy execution.”
“Why delay? Why not set about it at once?”
“True,—at once let us prepare for this pleasant masquerade!”
Chapter Twenty Six.
Circumstances were arising that would be likely to interrupt the Comandante and his captain in the execution of their design. At least so it might have been supposed. In less than twenty-four hours after the conversation described, a rumour of Indian incursions was carried to the town, and spread through every house in the valley. The rumour said that a band of “Indios bravos,”—whether Apache, Yuta, or Comanche, was not stated,—had made their appearance near the settlement, in full war-paint and costume!