But the Frenchman, not having overheard any of Quesada's recital, swallowed the bait in blissful ignorance.
"Is that so?" he queried with a lift of his blond eyebrows. He leaped into a sudden and importunate impatience. "Let us go, let us go to my fiancée!" he urged. "Oh, I must see Felicidad!"
Said Morales very coldly, "Jacinto Quesada is just about to lead us to his native pueblo where the girl is domiciled."
"But I trust him not! How do we know that he will lead us aright; how do we know that it is not all a lie? Blue devils! he may have the very money on him now and be but leading us into a snare! Here you, Quesada! Keep up your arms! I will search you myself alone!"
But Carson stepped between.
"Senor Quesada has offered to guide us to his village," he said, "and Don Manuel, his cuadrilla and I have signified our willingness implicitly to trust him. You must abide by the decision of the majority. Ferou, put down your gun!"
The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. It was wise to obey; there were two and more against him. He stuck the weapon in his coat pocket.
But Quesada shook his head.
"I will trust him not, this Frenchman, senores. My offer was to you. If the Frenchman is to go along, he must go along unarmed."
"Mais non, mais non!" expostulated the Frenchman, lapsing in his agitation into his native language.