Do I not know
a Peralta when I see one?" And here he laughed scornfully at the
absurdity of such an idea.
"Tell me," I said, "how do you know a Peralta?"
"The question!" he exclaimed. "You are a Frenchman or a German from
over the sea, and do not understand these things. Have I borne arms
forty years in my country's service not to know a Peralta! On earth
they are with me; if I go to Heaven I meet them there, and in Hell I
see them; for when have I charged into the hottest of the fight and
have not found a Peralta there before me? But I am speaking of the
past, senor; for now I am also like one that has been left on the field
forgotten--left for the vultures and foxes. You will no longer find
them walking on the earth; only where men have rushed together sword
in hand you will find their bones. Ah, friend!" And here, overcome
with sad memories, the ancient warrior took another drink from his
bottle.
"They cannot all be dead," said I, "if, as you imagine, the senora
travelling with me is a Peralta."
"As I imagine!" he repeated scornfully. "Do I not know what I am talking
about, young sir? They are dead, I tell you--dead as the past, dead
as Oriental independence and honour. Did I not ride into the fight at
Gil de los Medanos with the last of the Peraltas, Calixto, when he
received his baptism of blood? Fifteen years old, senor, only fifteen,
when he galloped into the fight, for he had the light heart, the brave
spirit, and the hand swift to strike of a Peralta.
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