The man was Mexican, no
doubt of that, but of the higher class, the dead pallor of his skin
accented by the black, deep-seated eyes. He looked at the two men
closely, and his voice easily reached the ears of the listeners.
"Who posted you here?"
"Juan Cateras, _senor_," answered one.
"Not on my order. Dias is watching above. Did the lieutenant give you
a reason?"
"The prisoners, _senor_."
"The prisoners! Oh, yes; those that Lacy had confined here. Well,
they will not be here for long. I do not believe in prisoners, and
because I do business with that dog is no reason why he is privileged
to use this place to hold his victims. I have just despatched a
messenger to Haskell to that effect, and we'll soon be rid of them.
Where is Cateras?"
"In the valley, _senor_! he went back down the passage with Silva after
posting us here."
"And the prisoners?"
"Occupy the two inner cells. Merodiz here says one of them is a girl."
"A girl!" the tall man laughed. "That then will account for the
unusual interest of Juan Cateras, and why he preferred being left in
charge.
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