"I was married before I came; I was not sent like a hen to the market."
"And the ship?" Borromeo inquired eagerly; "you spoke of a ship. Is it on the way?"
"It is expected at San Pedro bay within a week."
"If it brings one lady, only one, Mr. Soldier, she is for the blacksmith of San Fernando. Let any man step between us, and I will crack his head with my hammer as I would crack an egg."
"You are a valiant man," said Sergeant Olivera, lifting a shoulder in a strangely expressive little shrug, not so complimentary as Borromeo might have wished.
"I killed a man in Sinaloa for stealing my wife, Mr. Soldier; that is the kind of a man I am. Well, I killed the woman too, if anybody wants to consider that worth thinking about. I cut their necks like rabbits and left them where I found them. That is why I am here. Ask Magdalena; she can tell you what kind of a man I am."
"Even the testimony of the beautiful is not required to give character to the brave," Sergeant Olivera said. He did not turn his eyes from the red coals under Magdalena's grate, which he seemed to contemplate with visionary gaze, as if he saw the ship of which he had spoken there, the lady of his longing on its deck. The contempt that underlay the suavity of his words vain, boastful Borromeo seemed too dull to catch or understand.
"Remember your last penance, Borromeo," Magdalena cautioned him. Her eyes were gentle
