Part 9 (1/2)

”The kid is asleep--in the office,” he whispered to the collector.

Waring knew that the flicker of an eyelid, an intonation, a gesture, might precipitate trouble. He also knew that diplomacy was out of the question. He glanced round the room, pushed back his chair, and, rising, stepped to the bar. With his back against it, he faced the captain.

”Miguel,” he said quietly, ”you're too far over the line. Go home!”

The captain rose. ”Your Government shall hear of this!”

”Yes. Wire 'em to-night. And where do you get off? You'll get turned back to the ranks.”

”I?”

”Si, Senor Capitan, and because--_you didn't get your man_.”

The collector of customs stood with his cigar carefully poised in his left hand. The a.s.sistant pushed back his hat and rumpled his black hair.

All official significance set aside, Waring and the captain of rurales faced each other with the blunt challenge between them: ”You didn't get your man!”

The captain glanced at the two quiet figures in the doorway. Beyond them were his own men, but between him and his command were two of the fastest guns in the Southwest. He was on alien ground. This gringo had insulted him.

Waring waited for the word that burned in the other's eyes.

The collector of customs drew a big silver watch from his waistband.

”It's about time--to go feed the horses,” he said.

With the sound of his voice the tension relaxed. Waring eyed the captain as though waiting for him to depart. ”You'll find that horse in the corral--back of the customs office,” he said.

The Mexican swung round and strode out, followed by his man.

The rurales mounted and rode down the street. The three Americans followed a few paces behind. Opposite the office, they paused.

”Go along with 'em and see that they get the right horse,” said the collector.

The a.s.sistant hesitated.

The collector laughed. ”Shake hands with Jim Waring, Jack.”

When the a.s.sistant had gone, the collector turned to Waring. ”That's Jack every time. Stubborn as a tight boot, but good leather every time.

Know why he wanted to shake hands? Well, that's his way of tellin' you he thinks you're some smooth for not pullin' a fight when it looked like nothing else was on the bill.”

Waring smiled. ”I've met you before, haven't I?”

Pat pretended to ignore the question. ”Say, stranger,” he began with slow emphasis, ”you're makin' mighty free and familiar for a prisoner arrested for smuggling. Mebby you're all right personal, but officially I got a case against you. What do you know about raising cuc.u.mbers? I got a catalogue in the office, and me and Jack has been aiming to raise cuc.u.mbers from it for three months. I like 'em. Jack says you can't do it down here without water every day. Now--”

”Where have you planted them, Pat?”

”Oh, h.e.l.l! They ain't _planted_ yet. We're just figuring. Now, up Las Cruces way--”

”Let's go back to the cantina and talk it out. There goes Mexico leading a horse with an empty saddle. I guess the boy will be all right in the office.”

”Was the kid mixed up in your getaway?”