"Then what are you doing here, if you bring us no news?" snarled
Gato, whereat Nicolas began to tremble.
"I—I bring a letter from his excellency, el caballero, Reade," faltered the servant.
"A letter?" cried Gato, hoarsely. "Why did you not say so before."
"I have been waiting, Senor Gato, until you gave me time to speak," protested the messenger.
"Hand me the letter," ordered Gato, stretching forth his hand.
Nicolas handed over the page torn from Tom's notebook. Gato slowly puzzled his way through the note, his anger rising with every word.
"The insolent Gringo!" he cried. "He insults my courage! This from one who is a mere Gringo—the most cowardly race of people on the earth. Oh, I shall exact revenge for this insolence. And you, Nicolas, had the impudence to come here with such an insult."
"I assure you, Senor Gato, I was but the unfortunate messenger."
Nicolas replied, meekly.
"Since you brought this insolence to me you shall take back my message. Tell the dogs of Gringos that I laugh at them. Tell the Gringo, Reade, that, in these hills, I shall do as I please. That I shall let him pass safely, if I am so minded, or that I shall shoot at him whenever I choose. Assure him that I regard his life as being my property. Begone, you rascal!"
Nor did Nicolas linger. From the outset he had been badly scared, though he had been truthful in assuring Tom Reade that a bandit would hardly hurt a poor peon.