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Updated: May 20, 2025
Then one of Benito's horses, of which he had three, and fine ones they were, had been taken sick and died just at the time when it was most needed, during the early summer plowing both Benito's and his neighbors'; for after the work on his own land was done, Benito worked for others, thus adding something toward their income.
"Drink this," he ordered, "it'll give you strength to see Miss Burthen." Benito's lips obediently quaffed the drink. His head lay quieter upon the pillow. Slowly, as they watched, the eyelids closed. "And now," said Adrian when he had assured himself that Benito slept, "I'm going for McTurpin." "Don't be a confounded fool," Dr. Jones said quickly. But Stanley paid no heed.
He had narrow eyes, shrewd and calculating and the sinuous motions of a contortionist. Linking his arm with Benito's, he smiled, disclosing small, discolored teeth. There was something ratlike about him, infinitely repellant. "Come, I'll tyke ye to 'im," he volunteered. But this did not suit Benito's purpose. "I must go alone," he said emphatically. The other eyed him with suspicion.
From something in Don Benito's manner just then, it seemed as if the visitor had, at least partly, been the subject of the withdrawn consultation going on a conjecture as little agreeable to the guest as it was little flattering to the host.
After reading this carefully there was no doubt in Mariquita's mind that Benito's mission was directed against McKay. Her first thought was the urgency of the danger that threatened her lover; the second, an eager desire to put him on his guard. But how was she to do this? By letter? There was no time. By a trusty messenger? But whom could she send?
But ," he came closer, caught both of Benito's coat lapels in a confidential grasp, "I'm tellin' ye this, me lad: If it should come to a show-down ... if certain enemies should have a chance to call Bill Ralston's hand, I tell ye, it would mean dee-saster!" At 9 o'clock on the morning of August 25, Francisco Stanley entered the private door of Windham's office.
If Don Benito's story was, throughout, an invention, then every soul on board, down to the youngest negress, was his carefully drilled recruit in the plot: an incredible inference. And yet, if there was ground for mistrusting his veracity, that inference was a legitimate one. But those questions of the Spaniard. There, indeed, one might pause.
"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.
What's new?" "Nothing much since the bottom dropped out of Comstock." Instinctively Benito's hand went out toward a chair. He sank into it weakly. So that was the explanation of Ralston's swift departure. He felt the men's eyes upon him as he walked unsteadily to the files and scanned them. Ophir stock had dropped 50 per cent. Gould and Curry was even lower.
The news of the arrest of Joam Dacosta had soon spread about, but the curiosity of the Manaens did not outrun their discretion, and they were very quiet. Benito's intention had been to land that evening, but Manoel dissuaded him. "Wait till to-morrow," he said; "night is approaching, and there is no necessity for us to leave the raft." "So be it! To-morrow!" answered Benito.
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