That his "Guayaquil" still remained upon his head was due to simple forgetfulness of its being there; it had not occurred to him to uncover.
While silently standing with eyes turned towards the procession, he observed scowling looks, and heard low growlings from the crowd as it swayed slowly past.

He knew enough to be conscious of what this meant; but he felt at the same time disinclined to humiliate himself by a too facile compliance.

A proud American, in the midst of a people he had learned to despise--their idolatrous observances along with them--no wonder he should feel a little defiant and a good deal exasperated.
Enough yielding, he thought, to withdraw farther back from behind the pillar, which he did.
It was too late.

The keen eye of a fanatic had been upon him--one who appeared to have authority for meting out chastisement.

An officer, bearded and grandly bedizened, riding at the head of a troop of lancers, quickly wheeled his horse from out of the line of march, and spurred him towards the porch of the posada.