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Updated: June 26, 2025
He turned his attention once more to Rosa, and with a jerk that shook her into fuller consciousness repeated: "Where are they? Speak to me." "Gone!" she gasped. "Gone!" She struggled weakly toward Cueto, imploring him, "Pancho, don't you know me?" "Well, we've taught him a lesson," said Cueto, grinning apprehensively at Cobo. "We've accomplished something, anyhow, eh?" He nodded at Rosa.
In consideration of the danger to which the viceroy was exposed, Cueto sent the children of the marquis on shore together with Don Antonio de Ribera and his wife who had the care of them.
Finally, when the villa was but a heap of rubbish and the grounds a scar upon the slope of La Cumbre, he desisted, baffled, incredulous, while all Matanzas laughed at him. Having sacrificed his choicest residence, he retired in chagrin to the plantation of La Joya. But Cueto was now a man with a grievance.
No, Cueto had her at his mercy. Sometime during the course of the evening a wild idea came to Isabel. Knowing that the manager would spend the night beneath her roof, she planned to kill him. At first it seemed a simple thing to do merely a matter of a dagger or a pistol, while he slept but further thought revealed appalling risks and difficulties, and she decided to wait. Poison was far safer.
These phrases can scarcely have been used in their natural sense, for Luis de Leon concluded his written petition by stating that he was still willing to accept Mancio as his patrono, if Mancio were able to be present at Valladolid. Should this be impossible, the prisoner asked that Dr. Vadillo, Canon of Plasencia, and the Augustinian Fray Francisco Cueto should be assigned to him as patronos.
It was well that they had made haste, for as they rode down into the valley, up the other side of the hill from Matanzas came a squad of the Guardia Civil, and at its head rode Pancho Cueto. New York seemed almost like a foreign city to Johnnie O'Reilly when he stepped out into it on the morning after his arrival.
As if to swell his discomfiture and strengthen his fears, out from the hills at the head of the Yumuri issued rumors of a little band of guerrilleros, under the leadership of a beardless boy a band of blacks who were making the upper valley unsafe for Spanish scouting parties. Cursing the name of Varona, Pancho Cueto armed himself.
That smoke to the southward was from fires of his kindling: he had burned a good many crops and houses and punished a good many people, and since this was exactly the sort of task he liked he was in no unpleasant mood. He had demanded of Cueto lodging for himself and his troop, announcing that a part of his command was somewhere behind and would rejoin him later in the night.
The fire of patriotism burned fiercely in him, as did his hatred of Pancho Cueto, and the four trusty young negroes to whom he had given rifles made, with Asensio and himself, an armed party large enough to be reckoned with. These blacks were excitable fellows, and wretched marksmen, but, on the other hand, each and every one had been raised with a machete at his hip and knew how to use it.
Those who came running to learn the cause of the hubbub turned away sick and pallid, for the paved yard was a shambles. Pancho Cueto called upon the slaves to help him, but they slunk back to their quarters, dumb with terror and dismay.
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