Repeatedly the overseers next him in authority cautioned him against venturing out of the town so late.
"There are evil people about," said his head man, a worthy "scorpion," whom he had brought with him from Gibraltar. "Your worship would do better to stay at home at night."
"What have I to fear?" replied McKay, stoutly. "I have my revolver; I can take care of myself."
They evidently did not think so, for it became the rule for a couple of them to escort him back to town without his knowledge.
They followed at a little distance behind him, carrying lanterns, and keeping him always in sight.
One night McKay discovered their kind intentions, and civilly, but firmly, put an end to the practice.
Next night he was attacked on his way back to the hotel. A man rushed out on him from a dark corner, and made a blow at his breast with a knife. It missed him, although his coat was cut through.
A short encounter followed. McKay was stronger than his assailant, whom he speedily disarmed; but he was not so active. The fellow managed to slip through his fingers and run; all that McKay could do was to send three shots after him, fired quickly from his revolver, and without good aim.
"Scoundrel! he has got clear away," said McKay, as he put up his weapon. "Who was it, I wonder? Not one of my own men; and yet I seemed to know him. If I did not think he was still at Gibraltar, I should say it was that miscreant Benito. I shall have to get him hanged, or he will do for me one of these days."
The pistol-shots attracted no particular attention in this deserted, dead-alive Spanish town, and McKay got back to his hotel without challenge or inquiry.