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Updated: June 3, 2025
He was reading Wilkie Collins and Bret Harte in an Italian translation, and when he yawned in our faces and left the café early, it was because the night before the Dago's Woman in White or Luck of Roaring Camp had kept him up until long after dawn, though really he knew it was a waste of time since anybody had only to get himself half seas over and he'd talk any darned lingo in the world.
The dago's offered us six day straight with double for overtime and Sundays. We ain't decided yet. We waited to give you a chance." Dickie Lang listened quietly, her eyes roaming among the knots of silent fishermen. Some she noticed stood close and as their spokesman went on, shuffled closer. Others held aloof.
The quiet exclamation was all that issued from the Dago's lips; the surge of emotion within him sought no vent in words. But Bill was satisfied; he had the instincts of a connoisseur in torment, and the Dago's face was now a mask that looked as if it had never smiled. It was Dan that spoiled and undid the afternoon's work.
They bought Dago's silence for awhile, for he, too, hated Willett, and it was so easy to charge the crime to 'Tonio. But, when they fell out among themselves, and the pistol was found, and then Case was accused, Dago let loose on Muñoz, and the secret of the attempted murder was out.
Moreover, there was internal dissension among the Mexicans themselves. Dago's disgust with Muñoz seemed rekindled, while the sore-headed trio, done out of their money by aid of mescal, were slinking about the shack, looking unutterable things.
It was the corporal who called to his halting and anxious fellows: "It's Bennett's Ranch! His dago's in with the news mos' dead down there on Number Four; says they've killed the whole family 'Patchie Mohaves!" There was awed silence one moment. Then a deep voice broke it, and all eyes turned on the speaker. 'Tonio. "Apache Mohave? No! No!!"
"Listen, then," said Dan in a whisper. The water trickled alongside; they were coming up to their berth. The bells from the church ashore were still. Across the bay there came the clack of oars in rowlocks, pulled briskly, and voices. "Felipe!" they called. "Felipe!" The Dago's hand found Dan's.
"Run back to your room, dear," he said, as he passed his little girl. "You shall know everything presently," and then in a moment was out in the free air of heaven, the two young officers with him. Briefly, cautiously, the adjutant murmured the dago's story, adding his fear as to its truth.
If he had laid his nets around ours it would have been different. You could demand sea-way and run through them if he didn't move. But this way he had us over a barrel. And he knew it. It's a trick no white man would do. But I guess even you will admit now that there isn't a drop of white blood in that dago's body."
Nothing seemed to have been touched, until Jake placed the lamp on a writing-table where Dick sometimes worked at night. The drawers beneath it were locked, but Payne indicated a greasy finger-print on the writing-pad. "I guess that's a dago's mark. Mr. Brandon would wash his hands before he began to write."
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