ed.

"Manuel will be glad," observed El Rubio then, with an evil laugh. And
for a long time nobody said a word.

El Rubio, cross-legged, was observing him with the eyes of a basilisk,
but Castro swore a great oath that, as to himself, he showed no signs
of fear. He looked at the water gushing from the rock, bubbling up,
sparkling, running away in a succession of tiny leaps and falls. Why
should he fear? Was he not old, and tired, and without any hope of peace
on earth? What was death? Nothing. It was absolutely nothing. It comes
to all. It was rest after much vain trouble--and he trusted that,
through his devotion to the Mother of God, his sins would be forgiven
after a short time in purgatory. But, as he had made up his mind not
to fall into Manuel's hands, he resolved that presently he would stab
himself to the heart, where he sat--over this running water. For it
would not be like a suicide. He was doomed, and surely God did not want
his body to be tormented by such a devil as Manuel before death.

He would lean far over before he struck his faithful blade into his
breast, so as to fall with his face in the water. It looked deliciously
cool, and the sun was heavy on his bare head. Suddenly, El Rubio sprang
to his feet, saying:

"Now, Jose."

It is clear that these ruffians stood in awe of his blade. In their
cowardly hearts they did not think it quite safe (being only two to one)
to try and disarm that old man. They backed away a step or two, and,
levelling their pieces, suddenly ordered him to get up and walk before.
He threw at them an obscene word. He thought to himself, "_Bueno!_ They
will blow my head off my shoulders." No emotion stirred in him, as if
his blood had already ceased to run in his veins. They remained, all
three, in a state of suspended animation, but at last El Rubio hissed
through his teeth with vexation, and grunted:

"Attention, Jose. Take aim. We will break his legs and take away the
sting of this old scorpion."

Castro's blood felt chilly in his limbs, but instead of planting
his knife in his breast, he spoke up to ask them where, supposing he
consented, they wished to conduct him.

"To Manuel--our captain. He would like to embrace you before you die,"
said El Rubio, advancing a stride nearer, his gun to his shoulder. "Get
up! March!"

And Castro found himself on his feet, looking straight into the black
holes of the barrels.

"Walk!" they exclaimed together, stepping upon him.