“Bah!” said Baraja, speaking of these; “better to die than live wearing a coat out at elbows.”
Cuchillo was of the same opinion.
Meanwhile the sun was growing hotter and hotter. A burning wind began to blow through the trees, and the horses of the two travellers, suffering from thirst, uttered their plaintive neighings. The men themselves sought out the thickest shade to protect them from the fervid rays of the sun, and for a while both observed a complete silence.
Baraja was the first to resume the conversation.
“You may laugh at me, Señor Cuchillo,” said he, fanning himself with his felt hat, “but to say the truth the time appears very long to me when I am not playing.”
“The same with myself,” hastily responded Cuchillo.
“What do you say to our staking, on word of honour, a little of that gold we are going to find?”
“Just what I was thinking myself, but I daren’t propose it to you;—I am quite agreeable.”
Without further parley each of the two thrust a hand into his pocket, and drew forth a pack of cards—with which, notwithstanding the oath they had taken, both were provided.
The play was about to commence, when the sound of a bell, and the clattering of hoofs at a distance, announced the approach, most probably, of the important personage whom Cuchillo awaited.