g a few
words of comfort and encouragement.

Garcia's eyes flashed, but he kept down his resentment, and, advancing
to the table:

"Senor Landell," he said, "I come to demand the money that is due to me,
and which I must now have. Of course you are prepared?"

"Prepared, Garcia?" said my uncle. "I am not prepared--you know that,"
he continued sadly. "But still these stringent proceedings will do you
no good. I ask you as a favour for time. I am certain that I can
realise more from the plantation than you can. Give me time and it will
prove to your advantage."

"Miss Lilla," said Garcia, advancing with a smile, "you hear your
stepfather's words. It rests with you. Shall I give him time?"

Lilla's only reply, as I stood back, was a shudder, and she clung more
closely to her mother.

The action was not lost upon Garcia, who stepped back rapidly to the
door, uttered some words to a couple of men in waiting, and they
followed him into the room.

"You have the papers," said Garcia fiercely to the elder man, who seemed
a sort of notary; "take possession of this place and all thereon, as
forfeited to me in accordance with the bonds. Senor Landell, in an hour
I require you to be off this plantation. As for you," he exclaimed,
turning to advance threateningly upon me, "you are an intruder. This
place is my property; leave here this instant! Or stay," he said with
mock courtesy; "perhaps the gay young English senor will take compassion
upon his uncle's position and release him by paying his debt. What does
Senor Grant say?"

"Harry, for Heaven's sake," cried my uncle, "let there be no
disturbance. Take care, or there will be bloodshed!" he cried.

For as I advanced to confront Garcia he drew out a pistol.

"Stand aside, Uncle!" I exclaimed angrily, for he had caught my arm.
"I know how to deal with this cowardly bully! Put up that pistol or--"

I did not finish my sentence, for in obedience to a nod Garcia was
dragged back into a chair, and Tom Bulk's sturdy arms pinioned him, but
not in time; for, with a cry of rage, he drew the trigger. There was a
sharp report, and then, as the smoke floated upward, a wild cry echoed
through the room.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

SLIPPERY METAL.

That cry was from Lilla, who ran to my uncle's side just as he staggered
to a chair, holding his face with both hands.

"Not much hurt, I think," he gasped; "but it was a close touch--a sort
of farewell keepsake," he