fore, appealing to his sentiments as the representative of "a great name" moved him powerfully. He turned bruskly to his Minister for War.
"But you must have seen something. I presume you searched the house?"
"If I forced that house, Excellency, every one of our Quichua soldiers would rise. Runtu has only to make a sign, and they cut all our throats. That house is sacred, for the Red Ponchos and the mammaconas are escorting the 'sacred imprints' from Cajamarca to the Cuzco for the Interaymi fêtes. It is impossible, Excellency."
One look from the Dictator drove all his ministers from the room. When the door had closed on the last one, he turned to the Marquis.
"If your children are in that house, señor, it is terrible … but I can do nothing for you."
Don Christobal staggered under the blow, and leaned against the wall.
"Listen, Garcia," he said in a strangled voice, "if this horrible crime is allowed, I shall make you personally responsible for it before the civilized world."
He reeled, almost on the point of fainting. Garcia ran to his side, and held him up, but Don Christobal seemed to regain his forces at once.
"Hands off, you general of murderers!" he shouted.
