As for you, senor, because you cured me of my sickness and were to have been my husband I will let you choose the method of your death.

You may either be roasted before a slow fire, hacked to pieces with _machetes_, or fastened on the back of the man-killer and sent to perish in the desert.

Choose." "Just one word of explanation, Mamcuna.

I would fain--" "Silence! or I will have your tongue torn out by the roots.

Choose!" "I choose the man-killer." "You think it will be an easier death than being hacked to pieces.