"Do not move, rebel," he said in a husky voice. "If you move one hair's
breadth, that moment you die."
The other men all ceased talking and looked on with some interest, but
did not offer to interfere or make any remark.
For one moment I felt as if an electric shock had gone through me, and
then instantly I was calm--never, in fact, have I felt more calm and
collected than at that terrible moment. 'Tis a blessed instinct of
self-preservation which nature has provided us with; feeble, timid men
possess it in common with the strong and brave, as weak, persecuted
wild animals have it as well as those that are fierce and bloodthirsty.
It is the calm which comes without call when death suddenly and
unexpectedly rises up to stare us in the face; it tells us that there
is one faint chance which a premature attempt to escape or even a
slight agitation will destroy.
"I have no wish to move, friend," I said, "but I am curious to know
why you attack me?"
"Because you are a rebel. I have seen you before, you are one of Santa
Coloma's officers. Here you shall stand with this knife touching you
till you are arrested, or else with this knife in you here you shall
die."
"You are making a mistake," I said.
"Neighbours," said he, speaking to the others, but without taking his
eyes from my face, "will you tie this man hand and foot while I stand
before him to prevent him from drawing any weapon he may have concealed
under his _poncho_?"
"We have not come here to arrest travellers," returned one of the men.
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