El Bizco and Manuel went along in the dark from one side to the other, exploring the hollows of the mountain, until a ray of light issuing from a crevice in the earth betrayed one of the caves.
They approached the hole; from within came the interrupted hum of hoarse voices.
By the flickering light of a candle which was held in position on the ground by two rocks, more than a dozen outcasts, some seated and some on their knees, formed a knot of card-players. In the corners might be discerned the hazy outlines of men stretched out on the sand.
A fetid vapour was exhaled by the cave.
The flame flickered, illuminating now a corner of the den, now the pale face of one of the players, and as the light blinked, the shadows of the men grew long or short on the sandy walls. From time to time was heard a curse or a blasphemy.
Manuel thought that he had beheld something like this before in one of his feverish nightmares.
"I'm not going in," he said to El Bizco.
"Why?" asked his companion.
"I'd rather freeze."
"As you please, then. I know one of these fellows. He's El
Interprete."