He sat swinging his legs. "Well, that's where my notion comes in. I wish you'd drop that knife and be friendly: it's a fortune I'm offering you. Now my notion is that we two ought to marry." He stood up.
Mercedes lifted the knife with its point turned inward against her breast. "If you take another step!"
"Oh, but look here: look at it every way. I like you. You're a fine build of a woman, with plenty of spirit—the very woman to help a man. We should get along famously. One country's as good as another to me: I'm tired of soldiering, and there's no woman at home, s'help me!" He was speaking rapidly now, not waiting to cast about for words in Spanish, but falling back on English whenever he found himself at a loss. "I dare say you can fit me out with a suit of clothes." His glance ran round the hut and rested on the body of the old man.
Mercedes had understood scarce half of his words: but she divined the meaning of that look and shuddered.
"No, no; you cannot do that!"
"Hark!" said he raising his head and listening. "What's that noise?"
"The wolves. We hear them every night in winter."
"A nice sort of place for a woman to live alone in! See here, my dear; it's sense I'm talking. Better fix it up with me and say 'yes.'"
She appeared to be considering this. "One thing you must promise."
"Well?"