"Besides Gaspar, who is worthy of your excellency's confidence and thanks, no one returns with me save the Ottomi, Ocelotzin,—the Tiger; a man to whom should be accorded the praise of having saved the life of Gaspar, which is valuable to your excellency, and my own,—which is worthless."
As he spoke, he pointed to the ancient barbarian, who stepped forward with the same affectionate smiles and grimaces which he had bestowed upon the party at the cypress-tree, and with many uncouth gestures of reverence, saying, in imperfect Castilian, after he had touched the floor with his hand, and then kissed it,
"Ottomi I,—good friend, good rascal; but Ocelotzin no more. I am Techeechee,[8] the Silent Dog,—the little dog without voice,—Techeechee!"
As he spoke, he cast his eyes, with less of love than admiring fear, upon the gigantic beast, whose voice was to him, as well as to his countrymen, more terrible than the yell of the mountain tiger.
"I remember thee, good fellow," said the Captain-General.
Then, without bestowing any further present notice on him, he turned again to Juan, speaking with the same cold and magisterial tones:
"And where, then, are the two Christians of La Mancha, and the seventy warriors of Matlatzinco, who composed your party? the arms you carried? and the four good horses entrusted to your charge?"
"Your excellency shall hear," said Juan, calmly: "The two Manchegos were ill inclined to the expedition; and therein were my followers but unfortunately selected."
"They were mutineers!" cried Gaspar, whose anger was not mollified by being made a witness to the ill fate of his young captain: "they were mutineers; and so the devil has them."
"Hah!" exclaimed Cortes, starting up, with what seemed angry joy: "didst thou dare arrogate the privileges of a judge, and condemn a Christian man to death?"