That was the justification I needed. It's queer, but I never saw a man who didn't have to have an excuse. Belknap had his, I reckon.
We stood there, me quivering with fear, and his bad light eyes murderous on me, while slowly, slowly, I drew out ... my gun.
"Now," whispers I, "you petrified hunk of hypocrisy, I've got you! Hand me that knife!"
He couldn't understand. He just stared. "Hand me that knife!" says I, letting what I felt become apparent. He passed over the knife. With all his faults, he was too smart a man not to know the fix he was in. Yet I thought I'd clinch it.
"Mr. Belknap," says I, "your goose is cooked. The government army is right outside, as your people could have seen, if they'd had the wit of a mud-turtle. I've come into your lines prepared to do anything necessary, as you can readily imagine. We're going to have a little play-acting now, and you're to guess your part. If you guess wrong—Well, heaven has missed you for some time, and she sha'n't be defrauded any longer."
His eyes flickered with fury. He couldn't have said a word to save him.
"Understand," I whispers, "a crooked move and—adios!"
He understood. I kicked a table over and scuffled with my feet as if there was a row, then lay down on the floor, where I could watch my man, and yelled quietly for help. Oriñez's head showed at the window. I signaled him, and he lay behind the shutter with his artillery trained on Belknap, the virtuous.
"Don't cause me the great grief, Señor," he whispers. Belknap turned and, seeing him, the life went out of his face.
I hadn't yelled loud enough to alarm the house. Only Mary's quick feet responded to the call.