“I, I wonder why the friends of the señoritas do not come?” he ventured.
105“Want to get rid of them, eh, Murgie?”
The old man shrugged his shoulders. “And why not? You may not believe me, señor, but should I not feel easier if they were–well, out of the reach of Don Rodrigo?”
“Out of––Look here, where’s the danger now?”
“Ai, señor, don’t be too sure. Colonel Dupin still does not come, and it might be–because the guerrillas have stopped him.”
“Man alive, he had ’em running!”
“H’m, yes, but there’s plenty more. This very village breeds them, feeds them, welcomes them home. Don Rodrigo can gather ten times what he had to-day. And if he does, and if, if he is looking for the señoritas again––”
Driscoll shifted on his blanket. “I see,” he drawled. “F’r instance, if the señoritas vanish before he gets here, he won’t blame you? Oh no, you were asleep, you couldn’t know that I had up and carried ’em off. Anyhow, you’d rather risk Rodrigo than Colonel Dupin––Yes, I see.” He tucked his saddle under his head, and lay flat, blinking at the stars. “This trail go on to Valles?” he inquired drowsily.
Murguía’s small eyes brightened over him. “Yes,” he said, eagerly.
“Correct,” yawned the American, “I’ve already made sure.”