The native shrugged. “I have done my best! It is a question of the people. In some way, I know not how, word has been spread abroad that the capital is to be changed. Our people are furious. Our natives, sir, have sentiment about this——”
“Sentiment, hell!” snarled Mackintavers, as his fist crashed down. “I tell ye, it’s goin’ to be done! Ain’t there plenty in it for all, ye fool? Ain’t new state buildings got to be built at Albuquerque? Ain’t——”
“Señor, it is no question of money; it cannot be done! I myself dare not propose this bill without voting for it; and I cannot vote for it.”
“Why not?” The face of Mackintavers was purpled, seething with furious passions. Livid, the native glared back at him.
“Because I am afraid for my life.”
Mackintavers leaped to his feet in a whirlwind of rage at what he considered a palpable lie. The native shrank back, but doggedly, as though a greater fear were beside him than any fear of this political master of his.
At this instant the door opened and Abel Dorales appeared. He made a slight gesture, a gesture of command, of authority. The empurpled countenance of Mackintavers composed itself by a mighty effort.
“Very well, Mr. Cota,” he said, thickly. “Let the bill pass over for this time, since I got more important business on hand than chasing down you native senators. But let me tell you this: When it comes up again, there’ll be no more talk like you’ve just handed out—or I’ll know the reason why. Get out!”
Cota took his hat and left, thankfully. Dorales closed the door, while a flood of oaths burst from the lips of Mackintavers. With extended hand, Dorales checked the flood.
“Never mind that, Sandy,” he said, calmly. “We’ll probably find later that the railroad is double-crossing us. There’s no rush—we can get to the bottom of it in time. The more important affair is this of the Crump woman, so far as money goes. There’s a bigger fortune in this mine than in any political game!”