“Stop!” Coravel Tio grasped her arm. “Stop, señora! Force does nothing. Leave things in my hands, si servase! Lewis, go and tell Gilbert to be quiet—pronto!”
The potently gentle voice of Coravel Tio held firm command. He was obeyed. Gilbert stood motionless, scowling; Mrs. Crump stayed her hand.
Mackintavers walked quickly toward Mrs. Crump and Coravel Tio; eagerness shone in his eyes, and exultation. Behind him strode Abel Dorales, fixedly regarding Mrs. Crump. The half-breed’s features were thinly cruel; his nostrils quivered slightly; a shadowy smile curved his lips into sneering lines.
Gilbert turned and walked toward the new notice posted by Dorales.
“Just got some news,” said Mackintavers, jerkily. “Abel is goin’ to stay and tell ye bout it. I don’t s’pose ye got any objection if I light out for Magdalena, aiblins, now?”
Coravel Tio was rolling a cigarette, quite unconcernedly. He flashed Sandy a smile.
“Object? Why should we object, señor? By all means, go! And take your friend with you, your friend whose name is Zacariah and not Zebulon. Vaya con Dios, señor!”
Mackintavers was plainly in haste to be off. He called to the chauffeur, who came from the shack and joined him. Together the two walked rapidly toward the car wherein was reposing the bogus James Z. Premble.
“Y’ain’t goin’ to let them varmints go?” Mrs. Crump surveyed Coravel Tio with pleading indignation. “After them tryin’——”
Gracefully, Coravel Tio waved his cigarette. “Si, señora! Let them go. Let them both go. There are larger things, much larger things, awaiting us.”