Manuel thought that he had beheld something like this before in one of
his feverish nightmares.
"I'm not going in," he said to El Bizco.
"Why?" asked his companion.
"I'd rather freeze."
"As you please, then. I know one of these fellows. He's El
Interprete."
"And who is this Interprete?"
"The captain of all the mountain vagabonds."
Despite these assurances Manuel hesitated.
"Who's there?" came a voice from inside.
"I," answered El Bizco.
Manuel dashed off at full speed. Near the cave stood a group of two or
three huts, with a yard in the middle, surrounded by a rough stone
wall.
This, according to the ironic name given to it by the ragamuffins, was
the Crystal Palace, the nest of some low-flying turtledoves who
frequented the Montana barracks and who, at night, were joined by
friendly hawks and gerfalcons.
The entrance to the yard was closed by a double-panelled door.
Manuel examined it to see if it yielded, but it was strong, and was
armoured with tins that were stretched out and nailed down upon mats.
He thought that nobody could be there and tried to climb the wall; he
scaled the low rubble inclosure and as he advanced, got caught in a
wire; a stone fell noisily from the wall, a dog began to bark
furiously, and a curse echoed from inside.
Manuel, convinced that the nest was not empty, took to flight.
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