So, instead of a sharp command, he asked, ``What is it?'' in surprise, and stared at them wondering.He could not or would not comprehend, even though he saw that those in the front rank were pushing back and those behind were urging them forward.The muzzles of their carbines were directed at every point, and on their faces fear and hate and cowardice were written in varying likenesses.
``What does this mean?'' Stuart demanded, sharply.``What are you waiting for?''
Clay had just reached the top of the stairs.He saw Madame Alvarez and Hope coming toward him, and at the sight of Hope he gave an exclamation of relief.
Then his eyes turned and fell on the tableau below, on Stuart's back, as he stood confronting the men, and on their scowling upturned faces and half-lifted carbines.Clay had lived for a longer time among Spanish-Americans than had the English subaltern, or else he was the quicker of the two to believe in evil and ingratitude, for he gave a cry of warning, and motioned the women away.
``Stuart!'' he cried.``Come away; for God's sake, what are you doing? Come back!''
The Englishman started at the sound of his friend's voice, but he did not turn his head.He began to descend the stairs slowly, a step at a time, staring at the mob so fiercely that they shrank back before the look of wounded pride and anger in his eyes.
Those in the rear raised and levelled their rifles.Without taking his eyes from theirs, Stuart drew his revolver, and with his sword swinging from its wrist-strap, pointed his weapon at the mass below him.
``What does this mean?'' he demanded.``Is this mutiny?''
A voice from the rear of the crowd of men shrieked: ``Death to the Spanish woman.Death to all traitors.Long live Mendoza,'' and the others echoed the cry in chorus.