"I 'ave kill many American citizens," replied Lopez, without the slightest compunction.
Pell wrung his hands. "My Goverment will pursue you!"
"You are mistaken. Your Government will watchfully wait. We kill American citizen. Your Government write us beautiful letter about it.... But we have waste time!" He drew his gun.
As Lopez leveled the weapon. Pell all but dropped on his knees. "Wait!" he cried. "I'll give you money! Plenty of money! A million dollars! Yes, two million!" It could not be that so shameful a fate was to be his.
"It is not zat we want money," the bandit replied. "It is zat we don't want you."
Terror seized poor Pell. "But for God's sake," he wailed, "you wouldn't do that! You couldn't! Without even a chance for my life. At least fight me fair!" His voice seemed far away to him—like the voice of another being from a distant world.
"Fair?" Lopez rolled the word over.
"Give me a gun, too!" the fool prayed.
"Give you a gun! Pedro!" The man had evidently been just outside the door, and came in at once. "Pedro, you 'ear?" And Pedro grinned.
"Yes! Give me a chance!"