He
inquired idly if there were any Spaniards in the vicinity, and
learned that there were, but that they seldom came this way.
"We'd never see them here, if it were not for these sin
verguenzas--may a bad lightning split them!--who take money to
show them the bridle-paths," the country-man explained. "I'd like
to guide them once. I'd lead them into a swamp and leave them to
sink in the mud, then I'd go back and cut off their heads. Ha!
That would be a satisfaction, now, wouldn't it?"
O'Reilly agreed sleepily that it would doubtless be a very great
satisfaction indeed.
"I'm as good a patriot as God ever made," the fellow ran on. "You
can see that, eh? But what do you think? I have a brother, a very
blood brother, who would sell himself for a peseta. He passed here
the other day at the head of a whole Spanish guerrillero." The
speaker bared his teeth and spat viciously. "Christ! How I would
like to cut his throat!"
The shade was grateful. O'Reilly dozed. He was awakened by being
roughly shaken, and he found the man with the derby hat bending
over him. The fellow was excited; his eyes were ringed with white;
his expression bespoke the liveliest alarm. Loud voices came from
the rear of the bohio.
"What's the matter? Spaniards?" Johnnie was on his feet in an
instant.
"No, no! Your senorita!" the man gasped, "For the love of God come
quickly.
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