"You've said enough—too much, damn you," he roared.
With catlike swiftness Culvera sprang from where he sat, flung his weight low at the furious man from an angle, and tipped him from his feet so that he fell staggering into a chair.
"None of that, amigo," said the Mexican curtly. "These gentlemen are guests of General Pasquale. Till he passes judgment they shall be treated with ver' much courtesy."
Panting heavily, Harrison glared at him. Some day he intended to take a fall out of this supercilious young Spanish aristocrat, but just now he was not equal to the task. He mumbled incoherent threats.
"I don't quite catch your remarks. Is it that they are to my address, Señor Harrison?" asked the young officer silkily.
Heavily Harrison rose and passed from the room without looking at any of them. For the present he was beaten and he knew it.
The Mexican smiled confidentially at his prisoners. "Between friends, it's ver' devilish unpleasant to do business with such a—what you call—ruffian. But ver' necessar'. Oh, yes! Quite so."
"Depends on one's business, I expect," replied Farrar.
"You have said it, señor. A patriot can't be too particulair. He uses the tools that come to his hands. But pardon! My tongue is like a woman's. It runs away with time."
He called the guard and had the prisoners removed. They were put in the same adobe hut where Yeager had been confined a few days earlier.