"They gave him enough for my purpose," said Silencio. "He was utterly stupid. Was I going to awake him and ask permission to run away with his niece? Caramba, Beltran! I should think not! He was stupid, I imagine, all the way to the government town. When he called for the bird whose wings he thought he had clipped, behold, the little thing had flown, and with me, the dreaded enemy."
Don Beltran laughed long and heartily.
"You are a clever boy, Gil; but how about the future? As you say, you have that still to reckon with."
The darkening of Silencio's face recalled to Beltran that antiquated simile of the sweeping of a cloud across the brightness of the sun. But not all old things have lost their uses.
"I know that," said Silencio; "that is the worst of it. I have taken her from him to protect her, and now—and now—if—I—should fail—"
"I rode over to-day for that very thing, Gil, to ask if I could help. I will come over with all my people if you say so, whenever you send for me. My uncle, Don Noé Legaspi, comes within a day or so, to stay with me at San Isidro. He brings his little child, a motherless little thing, with him, but I can come all the same. I think that it was never said of my house that we deserted a friend or a kinsman in trouble."
"I see what you are afraid of," said Silencio. "You think he will attack me."
"I do," answered Beltran; "but we can stand him off, as the Yankees say. You have the right to shoot if he attacks you, but I hope that it will be my bullet that takes him off, the double-dyed scoundrel!"
"You will take some refreshment, Beltran?"
"No, it is late; my breakfast is waiting. A' Dios, Gil, a' Dios."