"Yes; bowie-knives or dirks. Knives like that," he said, making an imaginary downward stroke at the table before him.
The shopkeeper entered the tienda, and presently reappeared with three or four dirks in red leather sheaths. Guest selected the heaviest, and tried its point on the table.
"How much?"
"Tres pesos."
The young man threw him one of his gold pieces, and slipped the knife and its sheath in his boot. When he had received his change from the shopkeeper, he folded his arms and leaned back against the wall in quiet indifference.
The simple act seemed to check aggressive, but not insinuating, interference. In a few moments one of the men appeared at the doorway.
"It is fine weather for the road, little comrade!"
Guest did not reply.
"Ah! the night, it ess splendid," he repeated, in broken English, rubbing his hands, as if washing in the air.
Still no reply.