Robbins loomed up.
The smoke had grown lighter, so that we were able to discover one another.
He descended upon me with his usual impetuous rush.
“You’ve gone and done it, my boy—fate is in this thing, dead sure. That charge of yours was the finest thing I ever saw. Come, now, no laughing it off; I’m in earnest. And, as for the boys, they’re fairly paralyzed—it’s on every man’s tongue: ‘Señor Morgan won the fight alone! Everything we owe to him!’ Haven’t I heard them? They fairly worship you, my boy. Yes, it’s surely fate.”
That was the way he rattled on.
I had to smile.
Think of it, just two nights before, and these same “boys,” some of them, at least, were hot for my blood, chasing me through the twisting calles of Bolivar, and over the bay.
Well, they say time brings its revenges.
“What of the fort out on the point?” I asked.
He snapped his fingers.