La Temeraria knew how to help her husband. She was a quiet, hard-working woman as long as no one interfered with her; but if any one dared to fail her, she was a she-wolf, more vengeful than God. She had enough spirit to look upon robbing as a pardonable and permissible thing, and even to the extent of not considering it extraordinary for a man to bring down a militia-man and leave him on the ground chewing mud.
In fine, the husband and wife were the most artful ... innkeepers in these parts. At the Cross-roads Store, the traveller could spend the night in peace, whether he was an orderly person or had some little account to settle with the police; or whether he was a merchant or a horseman, he could be sure of being undisturbed. One day . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
“But tell me, my friend,” Don Gil asked Quentin; “how does the beginning of the story strike you?”
“Very well.”
“Did you like the exposition?”
“I should say so! You are a master.”
“Thanks!” exclaimed Don Gil, satisfied. “To your health, comrade.”
“To yours.”
“Now you’ll hear the good part.”