"I swear your ear did not look like that when I last saw you," I remarked, thoughtfully.
I sat comfortably on a tree stump in one of the sheds at the edge of the población. From where I was, I could see the cogon fields—peaceful now, still beneath the moonlight. The town had returned to its usual nightly hush, its disturbers either dead, captured, or fled.
Their commander knelt before me.
He was one of those who had scrambled for the boats after their assault collapsed in chaos. Eduardo, ever alert, had sprung awake at the first gunshots, boarded the Garay warship moored at the beach, and gave chase just in time.
The small fishing vessels that carried the attackers upriver were no match for the Moro swivel cannons. The four-pounder hadn't even been used—it would have been overkill.
