Was he being brought out here to be butchered for nothing,--he, Don Miguel de Mendoza, who had looked forward to many pleasures in this life?
It was too bad.

It was true, the fortune of war might turn the other way; but Don Miguel was aware of a sensation in his bones which made this hope weak.
At length Freeman drew rein and glanced around him.

They were in a lonely and--Don Miguel thought--a most desolate and unattractive spot.
An open space of about half an acre was bounded on one side by a growth of wild mustard, whose slender stalks rose to more than the height of a man's head.

On the other side was a grove of live-oak; and in front, the ground fell away in a rugged, bush-grown declivity.
"It strikes me that this is just about what we want," remarked Freeman, in his full, cheerful tones.

"We are half a mile from the road; the ground is fairly level; and there's no possibility of our being disturbed.