Another rural came out of the bushes and when they turned over the body Kit saw a dark face and a long, thin knife clenched in a brown hand. He understood now that the blanket had been meant to entangle his arm or head; half-breed peons often carry a rolled-up blanket of good quality on their shoulder.
"It is Gil Ortega," the rural remarked. "A good shot that will save us some trouble, comrade!"
"How did you come here when you were wanted?" Kit asked as calmly as he could.
The rural smiled. "By the president's order, señor. We were watching the café."
"But it looks as if you had got in front of me."
"It is so, señor. We thought it best to follow this fellow. He lost you when you turned back."
Kit nodded, for he remembered that he had instinctively avoided one or two dark lanes that would have given him a shorter line than the streets. Ortega and the rurales had taken the shorter way. He thought it curious the report had not drawn a crowd, but although he heard voices nobody came near and he imagined the citizens were used to pistol shots. Giving the rurales some money, he crossed the square to the presidio and going to his room lighted a cigarette. He thought a smoke might be soothing, for he had got a jar.
After a time, he went to look for Alvarez and found him sitting in front of a table in the patio. A soldier stood not far off, but the president was alone and the light of a shaded lamp fell upon a bundle of letters and documents. Alvarez worked hard and had inherited a rather austere simplicity from his Indian ancestors. Kit thought his plain white clothes and quiet calm gave him dignity.
"It looks as if my enemies meant to lose no time," he said, in English, when Kit told him about his adventure.
"It's their third try in a few weeks," Kit agreed. "Don't you find the uncertainty about where they'll strike next rather wearing?"