"Farewell, Pedro, my good friend," said Cristoval, embracing him warmly. "Heaven grant that we may meet again!"
"Farewell, Cristoval. God preserve thee!" returned Pedro, his voice unsteady. "Curse it, I’ll miss thee sorely! Take the basket—and remember, thou ’rt drunk. Do not spare thy sword if any one hindereth; only—avoid killing José, Candia, or De Soto. They’re friends—almost the only ones thou hast now, save Pedro."
"Is it so?" asked Cristoval, with surprise. "I thought there were others."
"They are few. Pizarro hath done for that. He promiseth a division of thy share of the plunder, and hath given out that the Inca enriched thee for thy friendship. Not ten men in the army but would see thee roasted with right good-will. A murrain seize them all! Now go! But hold! I had almost forgotten. In the basket thou’lt find a pouch. Sling it over thy shoulder. It containeth provisions. _Adiós_! _Adiós_, Cristoval!"
Cristoval embraced him again, and in a second was pounding on the door. His nerves were steady, now, as steel.
There was no response to Cristoval’s blows on the door. He waited a moment, then renewed his knocking. Still no reply but the reverberations within the room. He pounded again and again. Silence. Drawing his sword, he laid on with its hilt, but with no effect upon the guard, and he turned toward Pedro who sat staring in stupefaction. Each felt the other’s dismay. Here was a condition of matters to send hearts into boots.
"_Sanctissima Maria!_" gasped the cook. "I’ve been over liberal with the _chicha_. Pound again. That accursed sentinel hath gone dead over the bottle."
Cristoval battered with the sword hilt until the room was aroar with the echoes. No sign without.
"They will hear it in the guard-room," muttered Pedro, "and then we shall have the whole stew of them about, with Zapato in the middle."
"No help for it, Pedro. I must be out at once if out at all," and Cristoval assaulted with redoubled vigor. Pedro’s surmise was right enough, for after another storm of blows a distant voice called:—
"Ho there, guard! What is doing? What is that uproar?"
The sentinel was silent, and Cristoval pounded again. Presently there were voices and footsteps outside, the wavering light of a lantern shone beneath the door, and some one demanded: "What is wanted within there? Be done, prisoner! Give over thy din, and to bed."