The Captain soon finished his supper. He then rose, and, as night had completely fallen, went to visit the sentries, and see that all was in order. When he resumed his place by the fire, Father Antonio, with his feet turned to the flame, and wrapped in a thick zarapé, was sleeping, or pretending to sleep, soundly. Don Juan examined him for a moment with an expression of hatred and contempt, impossible to describe, shook his head twice or thrice thoughtfully, and then told his assistants, who were standing a few paces off in expectation of his orders, to have the two prisoners brought up. These prisoners had hitherto been kept apart; though treated with respect, it was, however, easy for them to see that they were guarded with the greatest care; still, either through carelessness or some other reason, they did not appear to notice the fact, for their weapons had been left them, and, judging from their muscular force and energetic features, though both had reached middle life, there was fair ground for supposing when the moment arrived for them to insist on their liberty, they would be the men to try and regain it by force. Without any remark they followed the Captain's servant, and soon found themselves before that officer. Though the night was gloomy, the flames of the fire spread sufficient light around to illumine the faces of the new comers. On seeing them Don Juan gave a start of surprise, but one of the prisoners laid his finger on his lip to recommend prudence to him, and at the same time glanced significantly at the monk lying near them. The Captain understood this dumb warning, to which he replied by a light nod of the head, and then affected the utmost carelessness. "Who are you?" he asked, as he idly rolled a cigarette between his fingers. "Hunters," one of the prisoners answered, without hesitation. "You were found a few hours back halting on the bank of a stream." "Quite correct." "What were you doing there?" The prisoner bent a scrutinizing glance around, and then looked again boldly at the speaker. "Before giving any further answer to your questions," he said, "I should like to ask you one in my turn." "What is it?" "Your right to cross-question me?" "Look round you," the Captain lightly replied. "Yes, I understand you, the right of force. Unluckily I do not recognize that right. I am a free hunter, acknowledging no other law but my will, no other master but myself." "Oh, oh! your language is bold, comrade." "It is that of a man not accustomed to yield to any arbitrary power; to take me you have abused--I do not say your strength, for your soldiers would have killed me, before compelling me to follow them, had not such been my intention--but the facility with which I confided in you: I therefore protest against it, and demand my immediate freedom." "Your haughty language has no effect on me, and were it my good pleasure to force you to speak, I could compel you by certain irresistible arguments I possess."