"You give her to me, señor?"
"O sí, sí! un millón gracias!"
"You hear that, Señor Strawbridge: the poor little bride Madruja, in Canalejos, is now under my protection."
The drummer felt a qualm, but said nothing, because, after all, nothing was likely to come from so shadowy a trust. The red-garbed skeleton tried to give more thanks.
"Come, come, don't oppress me with your gratitude, viejo. It is nothing for me. I am all heart. Step away from in front of the car so we may start at once. Vamose, señors! Let us fly to Canalejos!"
Gumersindo let in his clutch, there was a shriek of cogs, and the motor plowed through the sand. The bull-fighter turned and waved good-by to the guard and smiled gaily at the ancient prisoner. The motor crossed the head of the dry canal, and the party looked down into its cavernous depths. As the great work dropped into the distance behind them, the dull-red convicts and their awful faces followed Strawbridge with the persistence of a bad dream. At last he broke out:
"Gumersindo, is it possible that those men back there have committed no crime?"
The negro looked around at him.
"Some have and some have not, señor."
"Was the fisherman innocent? Was the old man with the daughter innocent?"