everything, for any money. Now we would buy. Is
it so?"

"One moment, Don Jose," said Poindexter, with a baleful light in his
dark eyes. "Do I understand that you are the ally of Spencer Tucker and
his mistress, that you intend to turn this doubly betrayed wife from the
only roof she has to cover her?"

"Ah, I comprehend not. You heard her say she wished to go. Perhaps it
may please ME to distribute largess to these cattle yonder, I do not say
no. More she does not ask. But YOU, Don Marco, of whom are you advocate?
You abandon your client's mistress for the wife, is it so?"

"What I may do you will learn hereafter," said Poindexter, who had
regained his composure, suddenly reining up his horse. "As our paths
seem likely to diverge, they had better begin now. Good morning."

"Patience, my friend, patience! Ah, blessed St. Anthony, what these
Americans are! Listen. For what YOU shall do, I do not inquire. The
question is to me what I"--he emphasized the pronoun by tapping himself
on the breast--"I, Jose Santierra, will do. Well, I shall tell you.
To-day, nothing. To-morrow, nothing. For a week, for a month, nothing!
After, we shall see."

Poindexter paused thoughtfully. "Will you give your word, Don Jose, that
you will not press the claim for a month?"

"Truly, on one condition. Observe! I do not ask you for an equal
promise, that you will not take this time to defend yourself." He
shrugged his shoulders. "No! It is only this. You shall promise that
during that time the Senora Tucker shall remain ignorant of this
document."

Poindexter hesitated a moment. "I promise," he said at last.

"Good. Adios, Don Marco."

"Adios, Don Jose."

The Spaniard put spurs to his mustang and galloped off in the direction
of Los Gatos. The lawyer remained for a moment gazing on his retreating
but victorious figure. For the first time the old look of humorous
toleration with which Mr. Poindexter was in the habit of regarding all
human infirmity gave way to something like bitterness. "I might have
guessed it," he said, with a slight rise of color. "He's an old
fool; and she--well, perhaps it's all the better for her!" He glanced
backwards almost tenderly in the direction of Los Cuervos, and then
turned his head towards the embarcadero.

As the afternoon wore on, a creaking, antiquated ox-cart arrived at
Los Cuervos, bearing several articles of furniture, and some tasteful
ornaments from Los Gatos, at the same time that a young M