“Well spoken!” said he, also a knight of goodly stature and presence, who had come when Pedro de Candia was called. “Though there be but half a score of us that remain true, we will not forget what Almagro said when he left us, ‘better to roam a free man through the wilderness than to lie in chains in the debtors’ prison at Panama.’ What say you, Señor Capitan? Shall we get the arms out?” Pizarro thought for a moment, and then he raised his head and, with a glance at the ships which were now close in shore, he said-- “Yes, get them out. Let us receive them as soldiers and gentlemen of Spain, whatever errand they come on; but be that what it may, I swear by my good Saint, St. Francis, and all the host of Heaven, that if ten, ay, if but two good men stand by me, I will stop here and wait Almagro’s coming, or such other means as God’s mercy may send us to prosecute this our enterprise to the end. Now, there comes the boat. Let us go and arm ourselves and receive them in what poor state we may.” “And three swords, if no more, shall be used this day to help you to keep that oath of yours, Señor, if need be,” said Ruiz, as they went downward toward the beach, and the others said with one voice-- “Amen to that!” On the beach Pizarro gave his orders with the quick, clear decision of a man to whom command is second nature, and arms and armour were taken out of their hiding-places, where they had been buried out of reach of the rain, and furbished up and donned on weak and famine-worn limbs with hands that trembled half with weakness and half with the excitement of new-born hope, for Pizarro had strictly enjoined his three companions to say nothing of his fears to the others. Meanwhile a boat, with the flag of Spain trailing from her stern, was slowly making its way from the larger of the two ships to the shore. As her keel touched the sand a score of men, forgetting their discipline, as they well might do in such a moment, ran into the water and took hold of her gunwales, striving to draw her up, at the same time crying their welcomes to those they took for their deliverers; but Pizarro, with the chief and better-born men of his company, stood aloof on the shore, only saluting the new-comers in a grave and soldierly fashion. When the boat was well aground, a tall, lean man, whose bright arms and handsome dress looked splendid in contrast with the wretchedness of the Men of Gallo, came and stood up in the bows, and, unrolling a parchment that he held in his hand, bowed to those about him and, with no further greeting, straightway began to read--