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Updated: June 21, 2025
There was more light where they were gathered, the shadows were few and soft, the colours tender as the tints of roses in a garden at sunset, and from the place where they stood the sound of young voices came silvery and clear. That should have been Inez de Mendoza's place if she had not been blind.
They first considered the advisability of attacking the military prison, but decided against doing so, as it would lead, they feared, whether it proved successful or not, to the murder of Rojas. It was impossible to return to the city where Mendoza's First and Second regiments greatly outnumbered them.
"By all means," answered Dalrymple, filling again. "By all means let us drink. I could not swallow that sweet stuff at Mendoza's. This is better. By all means let us drink as much as we can." "That might mean a good deal," said Griggs, quickly, and he drained a third glass. "Were you ever drunk, Dalrymple?" he inquired gravely. "No. I never was," answered the Scotchman.
Polly sat forlornly on a high stool and munched her crackers until Swartz returned. "No good," he said. "Mendoza's sick and he won't let nobody else drive de car. You better go stay mit de old lady." "All right," said the girl, rising. "I suppose I can leave my trunk on your back porch?" "Vy not? Ain't it der station? Vere should you leaf it?" replied Swartz, hospitably.
The marching and countermarching of the troops had continued with spirit for some time, and there was a halt in the evolutions which left the field vacant, except for the presence of Mendoza's cavalrymen, who were moving at a walk along one side of the quadrangle.
By some mischance the poet's intention was frustrated; perhaps a leaf was out of place in Sarmiento de Mendoza's copy; perhaps Quevedo is directly responsible for what occurred. This surmise may serve till a better explanation is forthcoming.
The change from sound to silence, from motion to immobility, was so sudden that every one was startled, as if some frightful accident had happened, or as if an earthquake had shaken the Alcazar to its deep foundation. Mendoza's harsh voice spoke out alone in accents that were heard to the end of the hall. "Don John of Austria is dead! I, Mendoza, have killed him unarmed."
An ambitious building of brick, the new schoolhouse, witnessed the fact that culture was believed in, even pursued. The other buildings were less imposing. There was the butcher's place, a small adobe with a fenced-in yard. As Mendoza's car drove past it, the butcher, with sanguinary intentions, was occupied in driving a wise and reluctant young steer around the yard.
He had already called upon the President, and had offered to resign his position and leave the country, or to stay and fight his maligners, and take up arms at once against Mendoza's party. Alvarez had treated him like a son, and bade him be patient.
He saw that the men who were believed to be devoted to Rojas, had been halted and left standing at the farthest corner of the plaza, nearly two hundred yards from where the President had taken his place, that Mendoza's infantry surrounded them on every side, and that Mendoza's cowboys, who had been walking their horses, had wheeled and were coming up with an increasing momentum, a flying mass of horses and men directed straight at the President himself.
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