The wheel of the cistern paused
in its rotations, and the slipshod servant-maid stood gaping, with
pitcher in hand, as the corporal passed by with his prize. A motley
train gradually gathered in the rear of the escort.
Knowing nods and winks and conjectures passed from one to another.
"It is a deserter," said one. "A contrabandista," said another. "A
bandalero," said a third- until it was affirmed that a captain of a
desperate band of robbers had been captured by the prowess of the
corporal and his patrol. "Well, well," said the old crones, one to
another, "captain or not, let him get out of the grasp of old Governor
Manco if he can, though he is but one-handed."
Governor Manco was seated in one of the inner halls of the Alhambra,
taking his morning's cup of chocolate in company with his confessor, a
fat Franciscan friar, from the neighboring convent. A demure,
dark-eyed damsel of Malaga, the daughter of his housekeeper, was
attending upon him. The world hinted that the damsel, who, with all
her demureness, was a sly buxom baggage, had found out a soft spot
in the iron heart of the old governor, and held complete control
over him. But let that pass- the domestic affairs of these mighty
potentates of the earth should not be too narrowly scrutinized.
When word was brought that a suspicious stranger had been taken
lurking about the fortress, and was actually in the outer court, in
durance of the corporal, waiting the pleasure of his excellency, the
pride and stateliness of office swelled the bosom of the governor.
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