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It tells a tale of woe, with reluctance to disclose it. "Where is Pedrillo?" is the first question asked in anxious impatience. "Oh, senor coronel!" replies Jose, hat in hand, and trembling in every joint. "Pedrillo! Pobre Pedrillito!" "Well! Poor Pedrillito what of him? Has anything happened to him?" "Yes, your excellency, a terrible mischance I fear to tell it you."
They were in too great distress about the death of their chief, and the chastisement they had received. They were in fear that the Tejanos would pursue them to their town; and were making preparations to flee from it when Pedrillo and myself came away. Pobre Pedrillito!" Uraga no longer stays listening to the mock humanity of his whining messenger. No more does he think of the drowned Pedrillo.
As I could do nothing there, I hastened here to tell you what happened. Pobre Pedrillito!" The cloud already darkening Uraga's brow grows darker as he listens to the explanation. It has nothing to do with the death of Pedrillo, or compassion for his fate upon which he scarce spends a thought but whether there has been a miscarriage of that message of which the drowned man was the bearer.
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