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"Ah! now, I understand. But that will be a dangerous thing to do, Gaspar. If caught " "Of course it will be dangerous," interrupts the gaucho. "If caught, whoever of us it be, would no doubt get his skull crushed in by a macana, or maybe his body burnt over a slow fire. But as you see everything's dangerous for us now, one may as well risk that danger as any other.
Perhaps as he lay there with closed eyes he remembered things long forgotten, as dying people do; sounds and smells of the Vico Dritto di Ponticelli, and the feel of the hot paving-stones down which his childish feet used to run to the sea; noises of the sea also, the drowning swish of waters and sudden roar of breakers sounding to anxiously strained ears in the still night; bright sunlit pictures of faraway tropical shores, with handsome olive figures glistening in the sun; the sight of strange faces, the sound of strange speech, the smell of a strange land; the glitter of gold; the sudden death-shriek breaking the stillness of some sylvan glade; the sight of blood on the grass . . . The Admiral's face undergoes a change; there is a stir in the room; some one signs to the priest Gaspar, who brings forth his sacred wafer and holy oils and administers the last sacraments.
"Whether it be by wading or swimming," Gaspar remarks in continuance, "we'll get over the riacho up yonder, not far from that tree. So, let's on to it, senoritos!" Without another word, they all wheel their horses about, and move off in the direction of the quebracha.
The trees cover the sides of a little mound, or hillock; none growing upon its summit, which is a grassy glade. And as the dust has either not settled on it, or been washed off by the rain, the herbage is clean and green, so too the foliage of the trees overshadowing it. "The very place for a comfortable camp," says Gaspar, after inspecting it the others agreeing with him to the echo.
"Ah," murmured Gaspar, "of all the men in the world, you're the one I'd tell it to most easily. But I can't I can't." "I don't care whether you tell me or not. Whatever you done, it must have been plumb bad if you can't even tell it to a gent that likes Cartwright like he likes poison." "It was bad," said Jig slowly. "It was very bad it was a sin.
Whatever it was, it kept Gaspar staring down into the lean face of Sinclair for a long moment. Then he went resolutely back into the living room and faced Sally Bent; Jerry was already waiting outdoors. "I'm not going," said Gaspar slowly. "I'll stay." Sally cried out. "Oh, Jig, have you lost your nerve ag'in? Ain't you got no courage?" The schoolteacher sighed. "I'm afraid not, Sally.
"Gaspar Ruiz had clambered up on the sill, and sat down there with his feet against the thickness of the wall and his knees slightly bent. The window was not quite broad enough for the length of his legs. It appeared to my crestfallen perception that he meant to keep the window all to himself. He seemed to be taking up a comfortable position.
But, fast as they have travelled, they know that Aguara, with his braves, will not be far behind; and although less than an hour has elapsed since their arrival at the estancia, Gaspar has already made preparations for their departure from it.
An infuriated voice from within jeered at him: "Come in, come in. This house belongs to you. All this land belongs to you. Come and take it." "For the love of God," Gaspar Ruiz murmured. "Does not all the land belong to you patriots?" the voice on the other side of the door screamed on. "Are you not a patriot?" Gaspar Ruiz did not know. "I am a wounded man," he said apathetically.
There was once a boy, named Gaspar, whose uncle made voyages to China, and brought him home chessmen, queer toys, porcelain vases, embroidered skullcaps, and all kinds of fine things. He gave him such grand descriptions of foreign countries and costumes, that Gaspar was not at all satisfied to live in a small village, where the people dressed in the most commonplace way.
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