In fact, Pizarro was having a bad night. On his stone table, weighted down by one of his steel gauntlets, lay the record of the summary court, left there by his secretary hours before. He could not read it, for he was unlettered; but he knew every word of its content. It told of sedition. He could only guess how far disaffection had spread, but the knowledge that the spirit was abroad had come with stunning effect. Hour after hour he paced the room, his footfall a dismal accompaniment to dismal reflections. After years he had almost reached his goal with an army at his back, only to feel the earth crumbling beneath him, undermined by cowardice and treachery. As he walked, his thin lips moved as if in prayer. But Pizarro was not praying. He was heaping black curses upon his riffraff soldiery. José relieved Pedro at daybreak, and an hour after reveille the cook returned with breakfast for the wounded man. His jovial countenance was perfectly blank. "Well, what news?" asked José. "Do the conspirators get the rack or the garrote?" Pedro put down his burden with deliberation. "Thou ’rt a fool at guessing, José, and I another. Neither rack, nor yet garrote! Let me tell thee. After roll-call and reports the general stepped forward. He looked along the line, and the line stopped breathing. Torres, of the infantry, let fall his pike. Then Pizarro began to speak—as quietly as I am speaking now. He said it had come to his attention,—had come to his attention, José!—that there are certain ones among us who have lost enthusiasm—not that they are damned traitors, José, but have lost enthusiasm! He would say to these that the hour is critical; that it is big with events which it will need all our courage to meet bravely, as becometh Spaniards. He would have no man go forward who goeth not with a whole heart, and to such as had liefer return the road is open. With those who choose to follow him, few or many, it is his purpose to pursue the adventure to its end." José resumed tearing bandages. "_Jesucristo!_" was his only comment. "Stew me to rags!" observed Pedro with slow emphasis. After a pause he continued, "Didst ever see such a man, José? He staked much on a single throw. On my oath, I should not have been surprised to see half the army take the route to San Miguel! Hah! He would have no coacted, weak-kneed service, quoth he; but to my mind he chose a perilous way of stiffening it and weeding out discontent. The rack were better. However, every cook hath his own way of cooking." Before noon nine malcontents slunk out of the _tambo_ and started back to San Miguel. Three wore bandages. In a few days the march was resumed. Little fever resulted from Cristoval’s wounds, and José pronounced him in condition, to go forward, borne in a litter. *CHAPTER IV* _*The Inca’s Encampment*_