Part 15 (2/2)

”You told me to lift his boodle. Time was short--he wouldn't play for long.”

”I'm aware of that. How much?”

Lablache's tone was abrupt and peremptory. Mancha was trying to estimate what he should be paid for his work.

”See hyar, I guess we ain't struck no deal yet. What do you propose to pay me?”

The Mexican was sharp but he was no match for his employer. He fancied he saw a good deal over this night's work.

”You played on paper, I know,” said the money-lender, quietly. He was quite unmoved by the other's display of cunning. It pleased him rather than otherwise. He knew he held all the cards in his hands--he generally did in dealing with men of this stamp. ”To you, the amounts he lost are not worth the paper they are written on. You could never realize them.

He couldn't meet 'em.”

Lablache leisurely took a pinch of snuff from his snuff-box. He coughed and sneezed voluminously. His indifferent coolness, his air of patronage, aggravated the Mexican while it alarmed him. The deal he antic.i.p.ated began to a.s.sume lesser proportions.

”Which means, I take it, you've a notion you'd like the feel of those same papers.”

Mancha had come to drive a bargain. He was aware that the I.O.U.'s he held would take some time to realize on, in the proper quarter, but, at the same time, he was quite aware of the fact that Bunning-Ford would ultimately meet them.

Lablache shrugged his shoulders with apparent indifference--he meant to have them.

”What do you want for the debts? I am prepared to buy--at a reasonable figure.”

The Mexican propped himself comfortably upon the corner of the desk.

”Say, guess we're talkin' biz, now. His 'lords.h.i.+p' is due to ante up the trifle of seven thousand dollars--”

The fellow was rummaging in an inside pocket for the slips of paper. His eyes never left his companion's face. The amount startled Lablache, but he did not move a muscle.

”You did your work well, Pedro,” he said, allowing himself, for the first time in this conversation, to recognize that the Mexican had a name. He warmed towards a man who was capable of doing another down for such a sum in such a short s.p.a.ce of time. ”I'll treat you well. Two thousand spot cash, and you hand over the I.O.U.'s. What say? Is it a go?”

”Be d.a.m.ned to you. Two thousand for a certain seven? Not me. Say, what d'ye do with the skin when you eat a bananny? Sole your boots with it?

Gee-whiz! You do fling your bills around.”

The Mexican laughed derisively as he jammed the papers back into his pocket. But he knew that he would have to sell at the other's price.

Lablache moved heavily towards his desk. Selecting a book he opened it at a certain page.

”You can keep them if you like. But you may as well understand your position. What's Bunning-Ford worth? What's his ranch worth?”

The other suggested a figure much below the real value.

”It's worth more than that. Fifty thousand if it's worth a cent,”

Lablache said expansively. ”I don't want to do you, my friend, but as you said we're talking business now. Here is his account with me, you see,” pointing to the entries. ”I hold thirty-five thousand on first mortgage and twenty thousand on bill of sale. In all fifty-five thousand, and his interest twelve months in arrears. Now, you refuse to part with those papers at my price, and I'll sell him up. You will then get not one cent of your money.”

The money-lender permitted himself to smile a grim, cold smile. He had been careful to make no mention of Bunning-Ford's further a.s.sets. He had quite forgotten to speak of a certain band of cattle which he knew his intended victim to possess. It was a well-known thing that Lablache knew more of the financial affairs of the people of the settlement than any one else; doubtless the Mexican thought only of ”Lord” Bill's ranch.

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