“Who gave it to you?” demanded the ranchman, beginning to slit the flap of the envelope.
“I am not informed,” said Victorino, still with lowered gaze. “The Señor who presented it declare’ it was give to heem by a strange hand at Jackleg. He say he was ride this way—”
The Captain was not listening. Victorino saw that this was a fact and he allowed his words to trail off into nothing, while he, himself, began again to slip away.
The old ranchman was staring at the unfolded sheet with fixed attention. His brows came together in a portentous frown; and perhaps for the first time in many years his bronzed countenance was washed over by the sickly pallor of fear.
Victorino, stepping softly, had reached the compound gate. Suddenly the forelegs of the ranchman’s chair hit the floor of the veranda, and he roared at the Mexican in a voice that made the latter jump and drop the brown paper cigarette he had just deftly rolled.
“You boy! Come back here!” called Captain Rugley. “I want to know what this means.”
“Me, Capitan?” asked Victorino, softly, and hesitated at the gate. With his employer in this temper he was half-inclined to run in the opposite direction.
“Come here!” commanded the ranchman again. “Who gave you this?” rapping the open letter with a hairy forefinger.
“I do not know, Capitan. A strange man–si.”
“Never saw him before?”