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"What do you propose?" asked Antonio, unable longer to restrain himself. "To turn them loose ... upon their word not to trouble us further," said McTurpin. "I have merely assumed control of my property. I hold the conveyance of Benito Windham. It is all quite regular," he laughed shortly. Antonio moved uneasily. His hand upon the lariat itched for a cast. McTurpin saw it.
She sprang upon her horse and galloped toward the rancho. McTurpin, red and angry, watched her disappearing in a whirl of dust. "Look, my brother! He has spoken truly." Inez and Benito had ridden to the pueblo for a confirmation of McTurpin's words. They hitched their horses at the rack in Portsmouth Square and walked down toward the landing place. A large ship lay in the offing.
"No, no," her little hands went out as if to ward off some repulsive thing. "Senor that is quite impossible." McTurpin saw the look of horror, of aversion. He felt as though someone had struck him in the face. There was a little silence. Then he laughed, shortly. "Impossible?" the tone was cutting. "We shall see.... This is now a white man's country. I have offered to divide the rancho.
"Not quite so loud," the other cautioned hastily. "They call him that behind his back. But who's to tell? I'd like to get the lad out of his clutches well enough." "Think I'll watch the game," Potts said, and sauntered to the table. He laid a friendly hand on Windham's shoulder. Benito's pile of coin was nearly gone. McTurpin dealt.
It was very comfortable in the living-room of the ranch house, where a fire crackled in the huge stone grate built by his grandfather's Indian artisans. Many of the valuable tapestries imported from Spain had been removed by McTurpin during his tenure, but even bare adobe walls were cheerful in the light of blazing logs, and rugs of native weave accorded well with the simple mission furniture.
Like a startled deer, Inez Windham fled from McTurpin and the stranger, her little, high-heeled slippers sinking unheeded into the horse-trodden mire of Portsmouth Square, her silk skirt spattered and soiled; her hair, freed from the protecting mantilla, blowing in the searching trade wind.
"Thank you," Brannan acknowledged. "Who's to make the first bid? Speak up, now, don't be bashful." "Twenty-five dollars," called Juana Briones. "Thirty," said a voice behind her, a voice that caused young Windham and his sister to start, involuntarily. "McTurpin," whispered Inez to Adrian. "Thirty-five," spoke Juana, imperturbably. "Forty." Brannan looked straight into McTurpin's eyes.
"You mean," she queried in alarm, "McTurpin?" Benito's mood changed. "There, my dear." He put an arm about her shoulders soothingly. "Don't worry. I'll be careful; neither storm nor bullets shall harm me. I will promise you that."
The villainous face of Ned Gasket passed before his memory mockingly; the meaning look McTurpin gave his henchman at the gaming table. Finally, with double force, that movement in the bushes as he told the gambler of his former captive's whereabouts. By what absurd imprudence had he laid himself thus open to the scoundrel's swift attack?
"You'll do well to sit still in the saddle," he reminded, "all of you. We have you covered." "What are your orders, master?" said the chief vaquero tensely. "Say the word and we will " "No," commanded Windham. "There shall be no fighting now. We will go. Tomorrow we shall visit the Alcalde. I can promise no more than this." "It's enough," McTurpin answered. "I've possession.
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