“You are at the mine,” Mr. Livingston told him patiently. “Relax.”
Rhodes fell back on the pillow, but only for a moment. A crafty smile overspread his pallid face.
“Carlos, you’re a wicked bandido,” he chuckled, “but so very stupid! Now you will do as I tell you, we both will profit—at the expense of Senor Corning, who hates us both!”
As Jack and Mr. Livingston bent low to catch the almost inaudible mutterings, Mrs. Rhodes came in with a pitcher of water. She caught the mumbled word “Corning” and stiffened alertly.
“My husband is conscious?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you call me at once?”
“There seemed no need,” Mr. Livingston replied. “He’s coming around, but he’s not himself yet.”
“What did he say?”
“Something about Corning and the bandit, Carlos.”
Mrs. Rhodes laughed nervously. “His mind is wandering. Why, he doesn’t even know Carlos!” Setting the pitcher on the stand, she turned again to the pair by the bedside. “I’ll take over now, thank you.”
“We don’t mind staying,” Jack said. “You may need us if he turns restless again.”