There was an awkward pause at this, and finally De Lancey dropped his white face against the bars and his voice became low and beseeching.
"I'll tell you, Bud," he said, "I haven't been quite on the square with you—I've been holding out a little. But you know how it is—when a fellow's in love. I've been going to see Gracia!"
"Oh!" commented Hooker, and stood very quiet while he waited.
"Yes, I've been going to see her," hurried on Phil. "I know I promised; but honest, Bud, I couldn't help it. It just seemed as if my whole being was wrapped up in her, and I had to do it. She'd be looking for me when I came and went—and then I fixed it with her maid to take her a letter. And then I met her secretly, back by the garden gate. You know they've got some holes punched in the wall—loopholed during the fight last summer—and we'd—"
"Sure, I'll take your word for that," broke in Hooker harshly. "But get to the point! What are you pinched for?"
"Well," went on De Lancey, his voice quavering at the reproof, "I was going to tell you, if you'll listen to me. Somebody saw us there and told Aragon—he shut her up for a punishment and she slipped me out a note. She was lonely, she said. And that night—well, I couldn't stand it—I hired the string band and we went down there in a hack to give her a serenade. But this cad, Manuel del Rey, who has been acting like a jealous ass all along, swooped down on us with a detachment of his rurales and took us all to jail. He let the musicians out the next morning, but I've been here ever since."
"Yes, and what are you charged with?" demanded Bud bruskly.
"Drunk," confessed Phil, and Bud grunted.
"Huh!" he said, "and me out watching that mine night and day!"
"Oh, I know I've done you dirt, Bud," wailed De Lancey; "but I didn't mean to, and I'll never do it again."