IX

It was as he had left it. He smiled sadly as he noted his civilian
clothes laid out on the bed. However, he would not wear them to-night.
A little later, while he was hanging them in the clothes-press, a
propitiatory cough sounded at the door. Turning, he beheld the
strangest sight ever seen on the Rancho Palomar--a butler, bearing a
tray covered with a napkin.

"Good-evening," quoth Don Miguel civilly. "Set it down on the little
table yonder, please. May I inquire why you bear the tray on your left
hand and carry a pistol in your right?"

"Your servant, the man Pablo, has threatened my life, sir, if I dared
bear your dinner to you, sir. He met me a moment ago and demanded that
I surrender the tray to him, sir. Instead, I returned to the kitchen,
possessed myself of this pistol, and defied him, sir."

"I apologize for Pablo, and will see to it that he does not disturb you
again--er--"

"Murray, sir."

"Thank you, Murray."

The butler was about to advance into the room and set the tray on the
table as directed, when an unexpected _contretemps_ occurred. A
swarthy hand followed by a chambray-clad arm was thrust in the door,
and the pistol snatched out of Murray's hand before the latter even
knew what was about to transpire. Pablo Artelan stepped into the room.

"_Vamos_! Go!" he ordered, curtly, and relieved the astonished butler
of the tray. Murray glanced at Don Miguel.

"Perhaps you'd better go," Don Miguel suggested, weakly. "Pablo is a
trifle jealous of the job of waiting on me. We'll iron everything out
in the morning. Good-night, Murray."

"_Buenas noches, mono mio_," Pablo grunted.

"I have a slight knowledge of the Spanish tongue, sir," Murray
protested. "This blackamoor has insulted me, sir. Just now he said,
in effect, 'Good-night, monkey mine.' Earlier in the evening, he
attempted to murder Mr. Parker's guest, Mr. Okada."

"It's a pity he didn't succeed," Don Miguel replied, and drew a dollar
from his pocket. "You are very kind, Murray, but hereafter I shall not
require your attendance. Pablo, give Murray his pistol."

Pablo returned the weapon.

"She ees one of those leetle lady-pistols, Don Miguel. She can't kill
somebody if she try," he declared, contemptuously. Murray pouched the
dollar gratefully and beat a hurried retreat.

From under his denim jumper, Pablo brought forth a pint of claret.

"When the damned proheebeetion she's come, you father hee's sell