“Very well, then, Don Mario,” answered Josè. “You may charge it to Rosendo. But tell me first how much you will place against him for it.”
The Alcalde reflected a moment. “The quinine will be five pesos oro, and Juan’s trip three additional. Is it not worth it?” he demanded, blustering before Josè’s steady gaze. “If Rosendo had been really sick it would have saved his life!”
“Then you do not believe he was dangerously ill?” asked Josè with some curiosity.
“He couldn’t have been really sick and be around to-day––could he?” the Alcalde demanded.
The priest glanced at Carmen. She met the look with a smile.
“No,” he said slowly, “not really sick.” Then he quickly added:
“If you charge Rosendo eight pesos for that bit of quinine, Don Mario, you and I are no longer working together, for I do not take base advantage of any man’s necessities.”
The Alcalde became confused. He was going too far. “Na, Señor Padre,” he said hastily, with a sheepish grin. “I will leave the quinine with you, and do you settle the account with Juan.” With which he beat a disordered retreat.
Josè was thankful that, for a few months, at least, he would have a powerful hold on this man through his rapacity. What 94 would happen when the Alcalde at length learned that Rosendo was not searching for Don Ignacio’s lost mine, he did not care to conjecture. That matter was in other hands than his, and he was glad to leave it there. He asked now only to see each single step as he progressed.
“Did Don Mario say that stuff would cure padre Rosendo?” asked Carmen, pointing to the quinine.