re travelers, and have no mind to be disturbed."

"You travel by strange paths," said the monk. "To what part of the
country are you going?"

"To Acapulco," answered Pharaoh, adding to me, in English, "there is no
harm in telling him that."

"There is a good road from Oaxaca to Acapulco," said the monk. "Why not
follow it?"

"We are minded to take our own way," said Pharaoh doggedly.

"You Englishmen are fond of that," observed the monk with a strange
smile.

"Who says we are English?" asked Pharaoh.

"Your Spanish is proof of that."

"I am from Catalonia," said Pharaoh. "We do not speak pure Castilian
there."

"And your companion? Is he, too, from Catalonia, or is he dumb?"

To that Pharaoh answered nothing. The monk turned his bright eyes on me.

"What is your business here?" he said, in very good English. "If you
cannot speak to me in my tongue, I must talk with you in yours."

"Answer him," said Pharaoh. "There is no use in further concealment."

"I see no reason why I should answer you, master," said I, feeling
somewhat nettled at the man's peremptory tone. "What right have you to
stop us in this fashion?"

He smiled again, if that could be called a smile which was simply a
sudden flash of the eyes and a tightening of the thin lips, and looked
round at his Indians.

"The right of force," said he quietly. "You are two--we are many."

"Two Englishmen are worth twenty Spanish devils," said I sulkily.

"If it is to come to fighting," said Pharaoh, gripping his cudgel.

The monk said a word in a low tone. The Indians on the instant raised
their bows and drew their arrows to the full extent of the string. The
tips pointed dead upon us.

"Englishmen," said the monk, "look at those arrows. Every one of them is
tipped with poison. If you move I give the word, and those arrows will
find a resting place in you. Let them but touch your arms, your
shoulders, inflicting but a scratch, in a few seconds you will be as one
that is paralyzed, in a few minutes you will lie dead."

The man's words were gentle enough, but somehow his low, sweet voice
made my blood run cold. Why did cruelty veil itself in such a honeyed
tone?

"What is it you want of us, master?" asked Pharaoh presently.

"Your names and business."

"That is easily answered. This gentleman is one Master Humphrey Salkeld,
of Yorkshire in England, who hath many powerful friends at court; as for
me, I am a sailor, and my name is Pharaoh Nanjuli