Though a non-commissioned officer, he was a man of ambitious aims; dreaming of gold bullion in the shape of epaulettes; and he had long had his eye on the epaulette of an _alferez_--officers of this rank being allowed only one. The good word of a Cabinet Minister, whether war, navy, or _Hacienda_, could give him what he was wishing for, easy at a nod; and here was an opportunity of winning it. "_Cabo_!" he cried out to his corporal, in a flurry of excitement, "throw open the gate--quick! Fall in, men! Dress up--ready to present arms! See that you do it handsomely!" It was in his favour, and so he congratulated himself that the carriage came on rather slowly, so that he had ample time to get his half-dozen files well set-up and dressed for the salute. There was some buttoning of jackets, stocks to be adjusted round shirtless necks, with shakos to be searched for inside the guard-house, and hurriedly clapped on. Still, it was all got through in good time; and, when at length the carriage came abreast, the guard was found standing at "present arms," the sergeant himself saluting in the most gracious manner. They inside, knowing how, returned the salute in true soldier style, though with a surprised expression upon their faces. No wonder. Where they had anticipated difficulty and danger, they were received with more than civility--accorded military honours! CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. "IS IT A GRITO?" The soldiers of the guard had grounded arms, and were sauntering back to their benches, when something came into the sergeant's mind which caused him misgiving. Was it possible he had been paying honours to those undeserving of them? He was sure of it being the carriage of Don Ignacio Valverde; his horses and livery too. But nothing more. None of the party was known to him as belonging to Don Ignacio's family or servants. For Jose was but groom or second coachman, who occasionally drove out his young mistress, but never to the Palace, or other place where the sergeant had been on duty. Equally a stranger to him was the big fellow on the box, who had hold of the reins, as also one of the gentlemen inside. It occurred to him, however, that the face of the other was familiar--awakening the memories of more than ordinary interest. "_Mil diablos_!" he muttered to himself as he stood gazing after the retreating equipage. "If that wasn't my old captain, Don Ruperto Rivas, there isn't another man in Mexico more like him. I heard say he had turned _salteador_, and they'd taken him only the other day. _Carria_! what's that?"