“Will you,” asked Driscoll, “take ’em now, or after you tell me what I owe ’em for?”
Murguía wavered. The simple question brought him to his senses. But he had gone too far not to explain. Besides, his insane device for reimbursing himself appealed to him as good. “Because–don’t you know, señor, that travelers here must pay toll? You don’t? But it’s true, and–and I’ve just paid out two hundred pesos on Your Mercy’s account.”
The trooper’s brown eyes flashed. “Which way did those thieves go?” he demanded. “Quick! Which way?”
Murguía’s avarice changed to trembling. He feared to tell. Driscoll caught his bridle. “Which way, or by–by–Never mind, you’ll pay toll to me, too! I’ll just learn this toll-taking trade myself.”
74Murguía saw a six-shooter sliding out. “You also!” he cried.
“Also?” laughed Driscoll. “There, I knew it, they were robbers.”
He wheeled and rode back with the fury of a cavalry charge, heedless of Murguía’s cries to stop by all the saints, heedless of the saints too. Murguía did not care what happened to his guest, but he cared for what might happen to himself, afterward, at the hands of Don Tiburcio and partner. He frantically called out that he was jesting, that Driscoll owed him nothing. But Driscoll had already turned into the side trail, and was following the hoof prints there. Murguía could hear the furious crackling of twigs as he raced through the timber. But in a little while he heard and saw nothing.
“He’s a centaur, that country boy,” observed Jacqueline critically. “The identical break-neck Centaur himself. Really, Berthe, I think we shall have to dub him Monsieur the Chevalier. Why Berthe, how pale you are!”
“I? Oh, mademoiselle, is there any danger?”
“Danger, child? Nonsense!”