This being done and no one having appeared to disturb us,
Otomie clad me in the clothes of a Spanish soldier which Marina had
brought, for I could not dress myself. What I suffered in the donning of
those garments, and more especially in the pulling of the long boot
on to my burnt foot, can never be told, but more than once I stopped,
pondering whether it would not be better to die rather than to endure
such agonies. At last it was done, and Otomie must put on the red and
yellow robe, a garb of shame such as many honest Indian women would die
sooner than be seen in, and I think that as she did this, her agony was
greater than mine, though of another sort, for to her proud heart, that
dress was a very shirt of Nessus. Presently she was clad, and minced
before me with savage mockery, saying:
'Prithee, soldier, do I look my part?'
'A peace to such fooling,' I answered; 'our lives are at stake, what
does it matter how we disguise ourselves?'
'It matters much, husband, but how can you understand, who are a man and
a foreigner? Now I will clamber through the window, and you must
follow me if you can, if not I will return to you and we will end this
masquerade.'
Then she passed through the hole swiftly, for Otomie was agile and
strong as an ocelot, and mounting the stool I made shift to follow her
as well as my hurts would allow.
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