“I cannot understand,” she said, “why it is the Dragoons have not followed you immediately?”
“Tibby’s the reason, I reckon. That Tibby is a deep one.”
She made him explain, and he told her. The blackmailing humorist, Tiburcio, had paid him a visit at his dungeon window during the night. Being chief witness for the prosecution, Tiburcio could pass the sentry unchallenged.
204“Come for your money?” Driscoll had inquired, and Tiburcio seemed hurt.
“What is the matter,” Tiburcio demanded, “with pointing a revolver at the Señor Americano right now, and making him deliver?”
Driscoll had not figured out what the objections might be, but he reckoned some would materialize.
“But,” said Tiburcio, “I’m not doing it, and why? Simply because I want to know if you care to escape?”
“W’y,” returned Driscoll, “I’ll think it over, and let you know in the morning,” at which lack of confidence Tiburcio was more hurt than ever.
“What’s the use,” Driscoll objected, “they’d catch me again?”
“Not if I fixed their horses, and if I do, will you promise to get out?”