“I own that I have seen large numbers of Indians collected together, but I am entirely ignorant of what they were about to do,” I said. “But pray go on, Don Eduardo.”
“The proposal is similar to what I made you when we first met,” he replied, the colour rising to his cheeks. “If you can conduct a Spanish force to where they are to be found, or can contrive to put some of their chiefs into our power, you and your friend shall forthwith be set at liberty.”
“You, I am sure, Don Eduardo, can expect but one reply from me to such a question, and you know that it is the only one which, while I remain an honourable man, I can give.”
“I am afraid so,” he answered, looking down much grieved. “I am to add, that if you refuse, as soon as we arrive at the town of San Pablo, you will be tried and shot as a rebel.”
“Before I have been found guilty?” I asked.
“I fear your guilt in our eyes has been too well established by your own confession,” he observed. “Let me advise you to think over the subject well. It is hard for a youth like you to die.”
“Tell me, Don Eduardo, do you believe me guilty?” I asked.
“You have been in communication with the Indians and you wish them well,” he said, avoiding an answer to my question.
“I wish the Spaniards well, and have never instigated the Indians to rebel by word or deed,” said I. “But you have not told me if you think me guilty.”
“I do not. From what I have seen of you I think you incapable of doing so wrong a thing,” he replied, kindly taking my hand. “I wish to save your life.”