"Softly, softly, _amigo mio_!" interrupted Moreno, unwilling that the disaffection should be too outspoken until Cristoval was more thoroughly sounded. "As thou sayest, we will go with him, Juarez, but," he turned again to Cristoval, "we are losing time and golden opportunity. If we but drop this insane purpose of conquest, a month’s campaigning, rightly directed, will make us all rich men—thee as rich as the rest, Peralta." Cristoval pushed away his cup. "Waste not thy breath, Moreno. If you men are discontented, quit the expedition. Return to San Miguel without spreading your dissatisfaction. It were better." Moreno bit his lip. "Art thou, then, as mad as Pizarro? Canst not see that every league we march toward the Inca doubleth our peril? Dost not see this seeming friendliness on the part of these heathens is only to lure us farther into the trap? And what have we gained thus far? Not a _maravedi_!" "Enough, Moreno!" exclaimed Cristoval, with impatience. "I see the danger, _seguramente_! But better the danger than perfidy." The last word was unwelcome. A foot-soldier swore, and a murmur rose from the group. "Peace!" commanded Moreno, glancing at his fellows with darkened face. "Thou hadst best consider, Peralta. Listen," he lowered his voice and leaned over the table. "As a matter of truth, there is dissatisfaction among the men at rushing blindly against the Inca’s unknown strength. They would have a more prudent leader, Cristoval, and—several have spoken of thee." Cristoval blurted a sudden oath and pushed back from the table, glaring from one to another with kindling eyes. "What! Hath it gone so far?" he demanded. "Have ye settled the details of your treason? Furies and devils! And ye would have me one with your cursed scheme of mutiny? A more prudent leader, forsooth! By the saints, ye should have a swineherd! Ah! Have ye smelled an enemy, that ye’ve so suddenly lost your bowels for going farther? Then go back!—sneak back with your tails between your craven legs!" Moreno sprang to his feet. The others rose with him, and a growl went up as they turned upon Peralta, several with swords half drawn. He remained seated, contemptuously ignoring the menace, and continued:— "Thou hast asked mine opinion, Moreno, and, by Saint Michael, thou shalt have it to sleep over!—and these pig-driver’s dogs of thine shall have it as well!"