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"Señores, if Gonzalez need money señores, I honest man! Señores, sit down! We talk!" Pedro dropped back into his chair and his hand, with cat-like quickness, shot under the faro table. Jack had come through the door after Jim and Bob. He was standing a little behind them, and while they had been watching Pedro's face he had watched Pedro's movements.
For many an hour their slow trot carried them on; and Morano, clutching the saddle with worn arms, already was close to despair, when Rodriguez halted in a little village at evening before an inn. They had done their fifty miles from the house of Gonzalez, and even a little more. Morano rolled from his horse and beat on the small green door.
They had barely finished their meal when the sound of hooves on cobbles was heard and Gonzalez beat on the door. They all went to the door and found him there with two horses. The horses were saddled and bridled. They fixed the stirrups to please them, then the travellers mounted at once.
Meanwhile, Don Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza, Grand Cardinal of Spain, with an escort of three thousand foot and a troop of cavalry, proceeded towards the Alhambra to take possession of that noblest work of the Moors.
He could not imagine why a person of Ed Austin's standing should behave in this extraordinary manner, unless perhaps he was drunk. "Well, I saw the calves, and I left the fellow that was branding them with a wet saddle-blanket over his face." "Eh? What's that?" Austin started, and Gonzalez uttered a smothered exclamation. "You killed him? He's dead?" "Dead enough to skin.
Then Don Alvar Fanez Minaya arose and said, Hold thy peace, Count Suero Gonzalez! you have been to breakfast before you said your prayers, and your words are more like a drunkard's than one who is in his senses. Your kinsmen like those of the Cid!... if it were not out of reverence to my Lord and King, I would teach you never to talk again in this way.
The Governor of Havana, the Marquis de Gonzalez, was a gallant soldier, as he was to prove; but that ounce of prevention which is proverbially worth more than the pound of cure, was not taken by him, and the British found the fortifications in a partially ruinous condition, and the fourteen ships of the line which were lying in the harbor before the city in such a state that they could hardly be called in commission.
But the work which most plainly shows the condition of social life which produced this class of tales, is the "Life of Estevanillo Gonzalez," first printed in 1646. It is the autobiography of a buffoon who was long in the service of Piccolomini, the great general of the Thirty Years' War.
Lusitania had a Viriatus, Rome a Caesar, Carthage a Hannibal, Greece an Alexander, Castile a Count Fernan Gonzalez, Valencia a Cid, Andalusia a Gonzalo Fernandez, Estremadura a Diego Garcia de Paredes, Jerez a Garci Perez de Vargas, Toledo a Garcilaso, Seville a Don Manuel de Leon, to read of whose valiant deeds will entertain and instruct the loftiest minds and fill them with delight and wonder.
Even prior to 1586 a somewhat condensed narration of his exploration had been published, being embodied in the History of China by Father Gonzalez Mendoza. This account is based on the authentic report in some of the various editions, on the spurious document in others. The book of Father Mendoza was soon translated into French.
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