Potaje and the maestro laughed at this advice. As he took up the glass, Plumitas found himself embarrassed by his carbine, which he had placed between his knees.
"Put it down, man," said the picador. "Do you stick to your weapon when you are paying a visit?"
The bandit became suddenly serious. It was all right so, it was his usual habit. The carbine kept him company everywhere, even when he slept. This allusion to his weapon which seemed another limb of his body, made him grave. He looked all round uneasily, and suspiciously, with the habit of living constantly on the alert, trusting no one, confiding in nothing but his own endeavours, and feeling danger constantly all round him.
A shepherd crossed the kitchen going towards the door.
"Where is that man going to?"
As he asked this he sat upright in his chair, drawing his loaded carbine closer to his breast with his knees.
He was going to a large field near where the rest of the labourers were working. Plumitas seemed tranquillized.
"Listen here, Seño Juan. I have come here for the pleasure of seeing you and because I know you are a caballero, incapable of breathing a word.... Besides, you will have heard of Plumitas. It is not easy to catch him, and he who tries it will pay for it."
The picador intervened before his master could speak.
"Don't be a brute, Plumitas. You are here among comrades as long as you behave well and decently."