"Ah! Pedro!" replied the latter, smarting from his wound. "A cook! A punctured cook, and no less! Here, you pikeman, help me to peel my doublet, for I have a hurt—_vulnusculum in latere_—a little one in the side;—_neque acu pundum_—not a needle-prick, I’ll swear;—and damn the man who made it!" Pizarro turned away impatiently, irritated by the cook’s garrulity. "Explain this matter, Peralta!" he commanded sharply. Cristoval explained in a few words. "Soto, have the companies formed!" ordered Pizarro. "We will learn who is out. Some of these dogs are plundering for themselves. It shall go hard with them! Peralta, I will send thee an additional detail. Post sentinels about the square until daylight.—Ha! Whom have we here?" The man who had struck at Cristoval had regained his senses and was sitting up, spitting out teeth. "He is one of them, General," remarked Cristoval. A soldier jerked him to his feet. "Put him in double irons!" commanded Pizarro, and walked away. The call was blowing for assembly, and the crowd of soldiers dispersed. Cristoval gave his attention to Pedro, who was already being examined by José. He found the wound slight, and it was soon bandaged. Cristoval set about searching for the injured Peruvian whom he had saved from the soldier’s knife. He found him presently, and called to José, who had a lantern. The three gathered round him. "Look him over, José," said Cristoval. "He is badly hurt, I think—and a youth!" "A noble!" exclaimed Pedro, inspecting him. "Santa Maria! The gold on his tunic, and in his ears! Our friend whom thou gavest a sore face would have found him rich scraping, Cristoval." "Ah!" assented Cristoval. "Now, let us get him out of this. Take thou the lantern, Pedro. José, help me with him to my quarters." The wounded Peruvian was carried from the square. They laid him upon Cristoval’s couch, and leaving him in José’s care, the former went about his duties. About dawn he returned and found the Indio fully conscious, with his wounds bandaged. Cristoval greeted him in a few words of Quichua. The young noble started at the sound, and regarding the cavalier eagerly, demanded:— "Do you speak my tongue, Viracocha? Then, in the name of the great luminary who shineth upon us both, tell me what hath become of my brother, the Inca!" "Thy brother?" exclaimed Cristoval. "God save us! Thy brother—if thou meanest the Inca—is alive and unharmed." "Oh, thou great God, I thank thee!" murmured the Indio fervently, and closed his eyes, overcome. Presently, looking up again, he asked, "Is he free, Viracocha?" Cristoval shook his head. "Not free."