for he's speaking in Spanish. But he's evidently telling
him that his people may finish their breakfast in peace, for, like us,
they are not wanted yet."

As Pen spoke the officers sheathed their swords, and two or three of
them replaced pistols in their sashes. Then the _contrabandista_ turned
and walked sharply across the cavern-like chamber to overtake his men,
and as he disappeared, distant but sharp and echoing _rap, rap, rap_,
came the reports of firearms, and Punch looked sharply at his companion.

"Muskets, ain't they?" he said excitedly.

"I think so," replied Pen.

"Must be, comrade. Those blunderbusters--_trabookoos_ don't they call
them?--couldn't go off with a bang like that. All right; we are ready.
But, I say, a soldier should always make his hay when the sun shines.
Fill your pockets and haversack, comrade.--There they go again! I am
glad. It's like the old days once more. It will be `Forward!'
directly--a skirmishing advance. Oh, bad luck, as old O'Grady says, to
the spalpeen who stole my bugle! The game's begun."

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

AT BAY.

The King's party remained perfectly still during the first few shots,
and then, unable to contain themselves, they seemed to the lads to be
preparing for immediate action. The tall, stern-looking Spaniard who
had seemed to be their leader the previous night, and who had given the
orders which resulted in the boys being dragged down into the priest's
room, now with a due show of deference approached the King, who remained
seated, and seemed to be begging his Sovereign to go in the direction he
pointed, where a dark passage evidently led onward right into the inner
portions of the cavern or deserted mine.

The conversation, which was carried on in Spanish, would not have been
comprehended by the two lads even if they had understood that tongue;
but in spite of the Spaniard going even so far as to follow up his
request and persuasion by catching at the King's arm and trying to draw
him in the direction he indicated, that refugee shook his head
violently, wrested his wrist away, drew his sword, placed himself in
front of his followers, and signed to them to advance towards the
entrance.

"Well done!" whispered Punch. "He is something like a king after all.
He means fighting, he does!"

"Hush," whispered back Pen, "or you will be heard."

"Not us," replied Punch, who began busying himself most unnecessarily
with his musket, placing the b