"Our King's, the King of the Indians."

Basilio smiled and shrugged his shoulders, while the cochero again
sighed. The Indians in the country places preserve the legend that
their king, imprisoned and chained in the cave of San Mateo, will
come some day to free them. Every hundredth year he breaks one of his
chains, so that he now has his hands and his left foot loose--only
the right foot remains bound. This king causes the earthquakes when he
struggles or stirs himself, and he is so strong that in shaking hands
with him it is necessary to extend to him a bone, which he crushes
in his grasp. For some unexplainable reason the Indians call him King
Bernardo, perhaps by confusing him with Bernardo del Carpio. [13]

"When he gets his right foot loose," muttered the cochero, stifling
another sigh, "I'll give him my horses, and offer him my services even
to death, for he'll free us from the Civil Guard." With a melancholy
gaze he watched the Three Kings move on.

The boys came behind in two files, sad and serious as though they were
there under compulsion. They lighted their way, some with torches,
others with tapers, and others with paper lanterns on bamboo poles,
while they recited the rosary at the top of their voices, as though
quarreling with somebody. Afterwards came St. Joseph on a modest float,
with a look of sadness and resignation on his face, carrying his stalk
of lilies, as he moved along between two civil-guards as though he were
a prisoner. This enabled the cochero to understand the expression on
the saint's face, but whether the sight of the guards troubled him or
he had no great respect for a saint who would travel in such company,
he did not recite a single requiem.