"The rest are all _gente irracionale_," observed the escribano. "So much the better--Nos. 12 to 21," cried the alcalde. For about a minute there was a deep silence, only broken by the scratch of Don Ferro's pen, and the snoring of the sleepers; then a rattle of chains was heard approaching, accompanied by a hollow murmur, that resounded strangely through the extensive vault; and at last several dark figures emerged from the gloom, their coal-black and fiery eyes glittering out of the darkness like _ignes fatui_. They were ten in number; desperate-looking men, who appeared neither bowed down by the sufferings they had already endured, nor concerned about their future fate. Some were of gigantic frame, and the form and materials of the rags which clothed them betokened Indians from the Baxio. With indomitable resolution and defiance depicted on their countenances, and an expression of desperate cunning in their widely parted eyes, they approached the bar. "Accused of causing disturbances, and exciting the Leperos to rebellion," said the escribano. "One, also, of having torn down the proclamation issued by the Audiencia." "Which is he?" enquired the alcalde. "That one," replied a voice, and the Zambo called Cassio Isidro stepped forward, and pointed to the old Indian whose acquaintance we have already made under the name of Tatli Ixtla. "So the Gachupins are the _piques_ that have laid their eggs in the flesh of Mexico?" asked the judge, reading from the police-spy's report, which he held in his hand. "Ixtla did not say that," replied the old Indian. "This dog of a negro said that." "You lie," screamed the Zambo furiously. "And the Gachupins, who are the sons of Jago, have despoiled the sons of Esau, that is to say, the _gente irracionale_, of their birthright?" continued the alcalde. The Indian made no answer. The judge was silent for a moment, and then uttered the word "Verdugo." A man of lofty stature and great strength, with a bushy beard of an iron-grey colour, and in a dress consisting entirely of white and blue patchwork,[20] stepped forward, and gazed for a moment expectantly at the alcalde. On a nod from the latter, he cast a noose round the Indian's neck, and dragged him away, as the hunter does the buffalo he has caught in his lasso. "Nos. 13 to 21," cried the alcalde. "Accused of gritos, and of stirring up the Leperos, and being in correspondence with the Gavecillas. They are from Zitacuaco and Guanaxato, and therefore rebels." "The nine Indians, who were of various ages, were now standing in a row at the bar. The alcalde addressed them. "What if you were to say, just once, and for the joke's sake, 'Death to the traitor Vicente Guerero!'" The prisoners gazed at their interlocutor with a fixed and stolid look. "Are ye all tongue-tied?" resumed the judge. "We will put it in another shape. Cry '_Muera el traidor Morellos!_' Perhaps that will suit ye better." None of the Indians made any reply.