“If that is the case,” Hilo remarked in French to the captain, “we may capture him ourselves.” “And pocket all the doubloons the marquis will offer,” the captain added greedily. The same motive for obedience which had drawn the acknowledgment of the viceroy’s destitution, a choice between that and a dagger stroke, induced the Moor to guide them in the direction of his master’s lodging, no doubt in the secret hope of wearying out his heavier-clad companions, and giving them the slip when opportunity offered. Up and down steeps they toiled most of the morning; the mist had disappeared and the sun beat fiercely on the rocks of the _duro_. The phlegmatic Wolfang followed with plodding endurance, as he would for a piece of gold to the world’s end, but Hilo’s impatience at last boiled over. “Infidel dog!” he cried. “I will leave your carcass on this peak if you fail to lead us straight to the viceroy.” At this the mute paused, whimpered, cast a terrified look at Hilo’s unpromising countenance, and ended by turning off abruptly from the course they were about to pursue. A few yards farther, the captain, who was in advance, cried out: “Hey! Yonder goes one of those Portuguese rascals. Hallo, you sir, come here or I will fetch you with a bullet.” Whereupon the peasant came down the narrow path he was ascending hastily, without demur. “I am a poor working-man,” he whined out deprecatingly, “and have nothing to do with fighting, señor. For the love of charity, give me something, for my children to eat, who are dying of hunger.” “I will give you what will keep you from ever being hungry,” Hilo answered curtly, “if you don’t show us where your viceroy is hid.” “I take all the saints to witness, I have not seen the viceroy this month or more,” the fellow exclaimed, falling on his knees. “What is that you are rolling in your mouth?” Carlo demanded, seizing him suddenly by the jaws and forcing a ducat out. The captain’s interest was aroused, and he thoroughly searched the clothing of the Portuguese despite his lamentations. “You may be worse off,” the captain rejoined after his fruitless trouble, “if you trouble us any more about your whelps.” And Hilo crying impatiently, “One is enough to guide us; leave the idiot alone,” they crossed a ravine which De Ladron recognized as one they had before visited, and confirmed a suspicion of the Moor’s duplicity. Turning upon him in a fury he uttered: “Heathen dog, your deceit will end here with your life,” and struck a blow which the other escaped by throwing himself on his back. The mute’s mouth worked spasmodically in his seeming efforts to enunciate, and he eagerly directed their attention to the path they had just descended. Hilo caught his meaning. “Watch him well,” he exclaimed, and bounded up the steep hill side. The peasant was found after a short search, standing at the narrow entrance of a cavern.