Aaron said nothing, but surveyed Bunol with a pair of small eyes that were set close together and were filled with a light of mingled cunning and simplicity. It was not the face of a man to trust, yet for five years Aaron had been with the Widow Myles, and had seemed faithful as a grateful dog.
“Tell Aaron what ye want, man,” said MacLane. “He will do it.”
“Aaron, at the inn there are two guests—a brother and a sister.”
The little man in the shawl bobbed his little head.
“I will not attempt to explain my reasons to you, Aaron,” the Spanish youth went on; “but this night MacLane and I will get our hands on the man, and you must help us. You will be paid well.”
“I ha’ told him that,” interrupted the huge man. “I gied him the siller ye ga’ me. Did I no gie ye th’ siller, Aaron?”
“Yes,” said Aaron, “I ha’ the siller.”
“You shall have twice as much more if you follow directions faithfully,” promised Bunol, and the eyes of the little man glowed greedily. “If you are half as shrewd as MacLane says, you’ll get into no trouble over it. You wait on the guests at table?”
Aaron nodded.
“What does Budthorne drink at supper?”