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Catalina had been an important part of it.… As he lay now sleepily puffing a last cigarette, he wondered why it was that he had suddenly lost interest in the girl. At ten o’clock in the morning Ramon was hard at work in the office of James B. Green. He worked efficiently and with zest as he always did after one of his trips to the mountains.
Then through the discordance of other voices, of clicking chips, rustling cards, dice snapped down upon the hard table tops, chink of glass and bottle neck, the voice of Ramon Garcia, liberated softly, filled the room with its richness as a room is filled with the perfume of flowers. Such music as he made did not often come into the North Woods, and men . . . and one woman . . . listened.
Anything fresh at the office?" "Yes, a great piece of news: another tinman has been appointed second chief clerk," and she became very serious. "So he succeeds Ramon, this was the very post that I wanted you to have. And what about Ramon?" "He retires on his pension." She grew furious, and her cap slid down on her shoulder, and she continued: "There is nothing more to be done in that shop now.
It'll be you or Miguel the Native Son, as they call him and so far he's cast for another part. That's the worst of Luck. He won't talk about what he's going to do till he's all ready to do it." There was a little further discussion. Ramon muttered a few sentences rapid instructions, Annie-Many-Ponies believed from the tone he used.
But we shall receive an exact copy." "How?" asked Hillyard. "Ramon will meet a messenger from Juan. At eight in the morning of every second day Ramon is to be waiting at a spot which from time to time we will change. The first place will be the cinema opposite to the old Bull Ring." "Good," said Hillyard. "In a fortnight I will return."
The man who had been shot while descending from the window was found to be quite dead, the ball having entered his heart. The two survivors were subsequently identified as Ramon Gomez, and Pietro Vaga, better known as "the Hunchback," two of the most notorious highwaymen and burglars, for whose apprehension a large reward had been offered.
She went into the room, which was large and sparsely furnished, and, finding the bed, shook him by the shoulder. "Uncle Ramon," she said, "Perro has come back ... alone." "That is nothing," he replied, reassuringly, at once. "Marcos, no doubt, sent him home. Go back to bed." She obeyed him, going slowly back to the open window. But she paused there. "Listen," she said, with an uneasy laugh.
The messengers were unarmed, and once inside the house were made prisoners, ironed, and ordered into a corner, where crouched Don Ramon Mora, now enfeebled by mental racking and physical abuse. The meeting of father and son will be spared the reader, yet in the young man's heart was a hope that he dared not communicate. The night was warm.
Not only were the boys about to escape, but if they did not stop them the secret of their underground route across the border would be discovered, and its usefulness at an end. No wonder they strained every nerve to reach the boys. Ramon himself had bounded to the side of the subterranean river as the boat swung round. As her gunwale had struck the bank, he had leaped aboard.
Ramon and I disconnected the battery and dragged the body into the room. We found in the pockets a butcher's knife and a revolver, and round the waist a rope, with which the would-be murderer had doubtless intended to descend from the window after accomplishing his purpose.
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