I thanked him for the letter which he had written to me from Santa Cruz, warning me about that ex-police agent. 'Very bad man—he will never cease from revenge—next time you see him kill him,' he said; and I rather wish that I hadn't mentioned it, because I hated thinking of the little brute. Of course he was as anxious to get to San Fernando as I was; he wanted to see a doctor as soon as possible, and have his broken leg looked after.
At the end of the hour I tried to push on again, but I'm hanged if I could. I walked up to the inn and sang out, 'San Fernando!' to the officers sitting inside it, with half-empty bottles of wine in front of them, but they shook their heads and didn't even stand up. This, I knew well enough, was meant to be rude. Only the chap who had killed the native as he was going for me, the one whom I had prevented drinking that champagne, stood up and came out, shaking his head, and jabbering Spanish. 'Mucho caliente! Mucho caliente!'
'He say no go San Fernando till night,' Navarro explained. 'Too hot.'
Well, as I've told you before, I've got a beastly bad temper: I wasn't going to stand any nonsense, and I was inside that place in a twinkling.
'San Fernando!' I shouted, pointed to the blazing white road, where the mules were lying panting in the glare.
They only smiled.
I pulled my revolver out and roared again, but they only pulled theirs out and shook their heads.
I knew that I was up against something 'tough,' and I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't heard my name called.
Navarro was beckoning to me, and I went out, the officers laughing, and only that one following me.
'Prisoners obey me—give them rifles—I want El Medico—San Fernando—quick,' and he pointed to where the regulars were all lying asleep.