"Ho, there!" cried the voice of a fourth comer on the scene. "Who talks of merriment, I would know, forsooth, at this sleepy hour of the night, and with never an honest bit of gambling allowed to pass the watch hours by. For my part, I feel glum as a sulky bear." "Then keep thy distance," was the retort. "For this sultry weather makes me suspicious that my bones may be in a dried-up state, and somewhat too easily crackable, my very esteemed Señor Velasquez de Leon." Montoro laughed. "Didst say, Juan, bones or brains were crackable?" "Both--or meant to," said the young man. "My bones, and Leon's brains. But come, Leon, hast thou not come to relieve guard? for that Toro there, thief that he is, robbed me of my rest last night, and I shall fall asleep on the march to-morrow." "Better not," replied Velasquez, with a warning shake of the head. "Be advised in time, lest thou mightest get left behind, and then thou wouldst assuredly be raised by the Totonac priests to the honour of the post of one of their lost gods. Thy beauty matches to a marvel that of their striking god of war." "I'll match him in the striking trait on thee then, at any rate," cried Cabrera, as he raised his arm. But the next instant it was caught, and held fast for a moment in a good firm grip before it was let go. "How now, my crack-brained schoolboy?" said the laughing voice of the General. "Hast had not enough of brawls during the past day to last thee even over one night? Keep thy blows for the turbulent spirits we may meet on the road to Mexico." CHAPTER XXXII. _ON THE ROAD TO MEXICO._ Such magnificent and royal gifts of gold and silver, of precious stones and precious stuffs, of birds and animals, of jeweller's work and the marvellous feather work, feather fans and feather tapestries, costly shields and beautiful embroidery, had been forwarded, by the hands of ambassadors, from the Emperor of Mexico to the Spanish camp, that the Spaniards, from Cortes down to the meanest soldier, had the most exalted ideas of the wealth and power of the new-found empire. "For my part," remarked Juan de Cabrera one day during the march--"for my part, I have serious thoughts of giving up the worn-out old country, and setting up my tent for the future in this new fairy-land. Gold and fruit and flowers, and food for the trouble of accepting it, are things just suited to my quiet tastes." Montoro laughed. "Few of thy friends will doubt thy word for it, Juan. But how about that promise to thy new, bright-eyed bride, the princess of Cempoalla--that she should reign as the queen of beauty not long hence in thine own old city of Madrid?" "Umph!" ejaculated Cabrera with a slight shrug. "For the promise--well, seest thou it was no vow, bound for honour's sake to be kept--nought but a passing word to a woman. And since she hath me, I doubt not she will have little care for aught else."