"Manana, manana; always to-morrow! The superintendent promised other time—'to-morrow.' The superintendent lied. Now we will not wait for to-morrow."
Cries of approval greeted the bold speech.
"But we cannot pay you to-night. We have not the money here."
"That is too bad for Senor Worth, then. If he cannot pay he should have told us so that we could work for the Company. The Company can pay!"
"But Mr. Worth will pay to-morrow morning."
A chorus of angry, jeering yells greeted this repeated promise, with cries of "Pronto!", "Esta dia!", and "No manana!"—"Now!", "To-day!", and "Not to-morrow!" The movement toward the building began again.
Instantly the arms of the man on the platform were extended and the mob saw in each hand the familiar Colt's forty-five of the old time West.
The forward movement was checked.
"Men!" cried Texas, in his deliberate way, "you cannot come any nearer these buildings. There are Americans here—friends of Mr. Worth, who are ready to shoot when I give the word. I can kill twelve of you myself before you can get to this platform. Go away quietly and in the morning you will get your money. Come one step nearer this building and many of you will die."
The moment was intense. A shot, a yell, a sudden movement would have precipitated a tragedy.