“Twenty, I tell you.”
“I would rather it had been forty,” coolly repeated the carabinier, “but say twenty, then. Now I don’t wish to be indiscreet—he is a captain, I am nothing more than a poor private. I think it reasonable therefore, that I should have double what he has received.”
At this extortionate demand the stranger allowed a bitter oath to escape him, but made no answer.
“I know well,” continued Pepé, “that I am asking too little. If my captain has three times my pay, of course he has three times less need of money than I, and therefore I have the right to triple the sum he has received; but as the times are hard, I hold to my original demand—forty onzas.”
A terrible struggle betwixt pride and apprehension appeared to be going on in the bosom of the stranger. Despite the coldness of the night the perspiration streamed over his brow and down his cheeks. Some imperious necessity it was that had led him into this place—some strange mystery there must be—since the necessity he was now under tamed down a spirit that appeared untamable. The tone of jeering intrepidity which Pepé held toward him caused him to feel the urgency of a compromise; and at length plunging his hand into his pocket he drew forth a purse, and presented it to the carabinier.
“Take it and go!” he cried, with impatience.
Pepé took the purse, and for a moment held it in his hand as if he would first count its contents.
“Bah!” he exclaimed, after a pause, “I’ll risk it. I accept it for forty onzas. And now, señor stranger, I am deaf, dumb, and blind.”
“I count upon it,” coldly rejoined the unknown.
“By the life of my mother!” replied Pepé, “since it’s not an affair of smuggling I don’t mind to lend you a hand—for as a coast-guard, you see, I could not take part in anything contraband—no, never!”