"Don Roberto, I am here."
"Cut these cursed ropes, send for guns!" Roberto commanded.
"You heard Don Gabriel's command"
"Don Yankee, Don Sailor! Here—quick! Bring a gun, I will show who is don!"
"It would be instant death to touch the rope, Don Roberto."
"It will be instant death when my hands are free if you refuse again, coward! Vincente! Carlos! Are you all dogs? is there no man here?"
Nobody answered. Henderson had reached the patio, where he stood beneath Helena's window, facing them with three pistols in his belt.
"Fernando! Jaime! Benito! Juan!" Roberto called, command in the inflection of each name. Silence.
"Man fears death, Don Roberto, because it is the end," Don Felipe said, standing back a little farther from the cross.
"Infidel! You's hall stand here before the sun goes down on this day! Is one Yankee to rule the world?"
It was well for his own peace, such as the future might bring it, that Roberto could not see the cloud that darkened over Felipe's face when the threat of this punishment was uttered. The little mayordomo drew himself up, head held high, a flush of insult in his pale face. He stood a moment, hands clenched as if he strangled hot words in them; turned and went toward his office, walking so fast
