"'S-SH! What talk!" Morin was in a nervous panic lest they be overheard. "As if anybody could escape from Matanzas! What made you come here if you are so eager to fight?"
"I'll tell you." O'Reilly assumed direction of the conversation. "There are three of us brothers, we two and Esteban, a pretty little fellow. He was captured by Cobo's men and driven in, and we came to find him."
"You came HERE—here to Matanzas?" Old Morin was incredulous. He muttered an oath. "That was a very nice thing to do. And did you find him?"
"Oh yes! That was easy enough, for the lad is deformed."
"Tse! Tse! What a pity!"
"But he is sick—dying—"
"Of course. They're all dying—the poor people! It is terrible."
"We—" O'Reilly faltered slightly, so much hung upon the manner in which Morin would take what he was about to say. "We want to get him out of here—we MUST do so, or we'll lose him."
Sensing some hidden significance, some obscure purpose behind this confession, the Spaniard looked sharply at the speaker. His leathery countenance darkened.
"Why are you telling me this?" he inquired. "What makes you think I won't betray you?"