*CHAPTER III* _*Nipping a Conspiracy*_ The column found convenient halting places in the caravansaries, or _tambos_, established for the troops of the Inca. These were of great extent, with barracks, magazines, and extensive fortifications. They afforded more than ample security for Pizarro’s force, and he availed himself of their shelter and stores of food without scruple. Five days out from San Miguel there occurred an incident but for which this story had not been written,—an incident, not only of momentous import to the fortunes of Cristoval in its sequence, but one which threatened as well to end Pizarro’s dream of conquest. The command had halted at a _tambo_, finding it, as usual, ungarrisoned. Details were quickly made for guard and other duties, and Cristoval was assigned to command a patrol to reconnoitre the neighboring village. An hour after sunset the detachment returned, and Cristoval went to his quarters to disarm. De Soto entered a moment later, and together they repaired to Pedro’s. The portly cook had already established himself as no mean adjunct of the expeditionary force, and at every halt set up his _cantina_, opened his wineskins, and served whatever broils, fries, or stews his unscrupulous energy as a forager made possible. He was a good cook, his kettles and spits always held something more savory than the kitchens of the companies afforded, and as a consequence he was well patronized by the soldiers, of whatever rank. On the march, with Pedrillo leading his two pack mules, himself astride of an ambling gray, his peg-leg in a stirrup specially contrived, his saddle festooned with vegetables and other predatory trophies, he brought up the rear or jogged along beside the column, bantering the soldiers, telling droll stories, or singing ballads of doubtful propriety. When camp was made, headquarters were not established more promptly than Pedro’s cook shop, and from sunset until closed by the rounds it was full of men, eating, gambling, or drinking _chicha_, the native beverage distilled from maize. Places were made for the two cavaliers at one of the tables, and soon Pedro limped across the room, wiping his hands on an apron once white. "Well, Señor Cristoval," said he, lounging against the table, "what news?" "News? I’m hungry." "No news at all!" retorted Pedro. "Who ever knew thee otherwise? I have better. A few more turns, and I’ll have a haunch of llama done to a brown; and it will taste none the worse for the fact that it is a misdemeanor for anyone but an Inca—a noble, that is—to eat of it." "Oh, Pedro, thou prince of foragers!" exclaimed Cristoval. "How camest thou by it?" "Why," said Pedro, "I made an excursion this morning with my boy." "Unhappy Peru! Well?"