me of my things. What sort of friendship is that?”
In fact, at a very short distance from where the group found itself, there were seen down below, through the shrubbery, the four men of Don Miguel. They were stretched out on the ground upon their blankets, and in the shadow of the trees conversed without suspicion, with their eyes fastened on the house of Palmar, which was visible from there. Their horses, unbridled and fastened to the trees, were pasturing on the green herbage.
“But man! How good was that blow?” said one of the mozos. “It still gives me delight.”
“What a surprise for the poor montero!” exclaimed another.
“What will Don Pedro say?”
“He will have to calm his rage.”
And they