CHAPTER XXVII: A DANGEROUS PRISONER
He was tall and thin, wearing a wide cloak about his shoulders, and high hat with broad brim. Even at that distance it could be seen that his long hair was grey, and that a heavy moustache, snow-white, made more noticeable the thin features of his face. The man was Mexican, no doubt of that, but of the higher class, the dead pallor of his skin accented by the black, deep-seated eyes. He looked at the two men closely, and his voice easily reached the ears of the listeners.
"Who posted you here?"
"Juan Cateras, señor," answered one.
"Not on my order. Dias is watching above. Did the lieutenant give you a reason?"
"The prisoners, señor."
"The prisoners! Oh, yes; those that Lacy had confined here. Well, they will not be here for long. I do not believe in prisoners, and because I do business with that dog is no reason why he is privileged to use this place to hold his victims. I have just despatched a messenger to Haskell to that effect, and we'll soon be rid of them. Where is Cateras?"
"In the valley, señor! he went back down the passage with Silva after posting us here."
"And the prisoners?"
"Occupy the two inner cells. Merodiz here says one of them is a girl."