The Gobernador’s smile broadened till he looked almost in cheerful. “I know, I know,” he said. “Nevertheless I hope to in make peace.”
In the late afternoon, in a world of soft airs and a warm stillness, Barbara and Castor flew over the barrens of the Tierra Caliente. Thirty miles off on their left the great mountains flamed in the setting sun, and in the twilight they saw before them the line of steep cliffs which ran at right angles to the main range and made the southern wall of the Gran Seco. A little short of it they swerved eastward into the secluded valley of Pacheco.
Sandy was sitting in his hut with his elbows on a deal table, studying by the light of two candles a paper which lay before him. An aide-de-camp brought him a message which made him rise to his feet and stare blinkingly at the door.
The Gobernador stood before him, bent a little like a man whose every limb aches with stiffness. He did not hold out his hand. “Lord Clanroyden,” he said, “I have come to take over the command with which you honoured me some time ago.”
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