“No, Marcos,” said Don Miguel to him, “do not remove them. We shall go on at once.” “How! _compadre_,” said Don Pedro; “then you will not remain to take breakfast with me?” “No, not today, because I must arrive at Derramadero before 6, and it is yet distant.” “That is true, _compadre_; but there will be another day, will there not? Pass in, pass in. Do you desire that we sit down here on the bench to enjoy the fresh air, or shall we go into the office?” “We are very well here. Do not trouble yourself.” “Very well. What are you doing so early?” “It does not please me to visit. I come to treat of our business.” “What business?” “That which we have pending.” “But we have nothing pending.” “How not? The Monte de los Pericos.” “What about it?” “I want you to decide whether you will yield it to me.” “Why do we speak of this? A thousand times I have told you that the Monte is mine.” “That is what you say, but the truth is that it belongs to me.” “_Compadre_, it is better that we talk of something else; leave this matter. Are we not friends?” “We are so; but that is not to say that you may deprive me of my things. What sort of friendship is that?” * * * * * In fact, at a very short distance from where the group found itself, there were seen down below, through the shrubbery, the four men of Don Miguel. They were stretched out on the ground upon their blankets, and in the shadow of the trees conversed without suspicion, with their eyes fastened on the house of Palmar, which was visible from there. Their horses, unbridled and fastened to the trees, were pasturing on the green herbage. “But man! How good was that blow?” said one of the _mozos_. “It still gives me delight.” “What a surprise for the poor _montero_!” exclaimed another. “What will Don Pedro say?” “He will have to calm his rage.” And they laughed with their mouths open. Just then they heard the tramp of horses, and turning their heads saw Don Pedro, followed by his men. They tried to rise to draw their pistols. “Do not stir!” said Don Pedro in a terrible voice, “or we will shoot you.” And he and all his held their arms ready. There was nothing to be done. The servants of Don Miguel comprehended that all resistance was useless. “Master, we are taken,” said one of them. “Do you surrender at discretion?” “There is no way to avoid it.” “Then give up your arms. Look, Roque, dismount and take away from the gentlemen their rifles, their pistols, their sabres and their cartridge boxes.” They gave up with trembling hands the pistols and the cartridge boxes. The rifles were hanging from the saddles of their horses. “Now,” continued Don Pedro, “tie their hands behind them and help them to get onto their horses. Distribute their arms so that their weight shall not be too great, and let each one take the halter of a horse in order that he may lead it.”