"But how? How do you work it?" Gilbert inquired, his brain in a tumult.
"I pick from my men ze best rider. I make 'im for look like me. So when ze ranger wish for chase me, 'e go while I remain be'ind. It save me moch hexercise. Say, why you no kill 'im yourself? You got ze gun." Lopez was mystified.
"I—I couldn't," Gilbert answered.
"Ees no difference from us three—me, you, and 'im," Lopez explained. "You is afraid for kill. 'E was afraid for die. Me, I am afraid for neizer! Now zen, what you do, eh?" He patted Gilbert on the shoulder.
"I don't know," the young man said. "We've got to go somewhere."
Lopez was firm. "No. You shall stay right 'ere in your 'ome sweet 'ome."
"But I've lost the place." He pointed to the little clock that was ticking out its relentless minutes. "It's after eight o'clock."
"No," said Lopez, definitely. "For at 'alf-past six-thirty, what I do? I tell you. When I am chase by ze ranger what I follow, I sink for myself eight o'clock she soon come. Suppose moggidge of my frands he meet wiz accident? Would never do!" He waved his arms. "So I goes and pays 'er myself!" He handed Gilbert a paper.
Gilbert could not believe his eyes. "What's that?" he wanted to know.
"Ees recipe," Lopez affirmed.