"I am always Vasco Nunez to you,
_amigo_," he said easily, "as you very well know. Pizarro is a bulldog
for bravery, and he has a head on his shoulders. Also he is ambitious,
and this will give him a chance to win renown."
"And keeps him out of mischief for the time being," put in Saavedra
dryly.
Balboa laughed again. "Why do you ask me questions when you know my mind
almost as well as I do? You see, now that Enciso is about to go, we
shall have some freedom to do something besides quarrel among ourselves.
Gold is an apology for whatever one does, out here. If there is as much
of it as they say, in this Coyba, the King may be able to gild the walls
of another salon, and if he puts Pizarro's portrait in it in the place
of honor I shall not weep over that. There is glory enough for all of
us, who choose to earn it."
Pizarro and his men had not gone ten miles from Darien before they ran
into an ambush of Indians armed with slings. The seven Spaniards
charged instantly, and actually put the enemy to flight, then beat a
quick retreat. Every man of them despite their body armor had wounds and
bruises, and one was left disabled upon the field. Balboa met them as
they limped painfully in. His quick eye took in the situation.
"Only six of you? Where is Francisco Hernan?"
"He was crippled and could not walk," answered Pizarro sulkily; he saw
what was coming.
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