“I must see you soon!” he said, as they went out. “I have something very serious to say.”
Once more she looked up quickly. “We shall be at El Quiss, Sebastien’s place, for three days. After that you will find me at home. But do not come alone!” The hasty addition threw more light on the causes behind her sudden departure. “As you value your life—nay, you were always careless of that—promise, for my sake, that you will not come alone? When you go out anywhere take with you at least one man.”
“Is it so serious as that?” But he stopped laughing when he saw she was hurt. “There! I promise!”
She paid him, alighting, with a clasp of her hand that left its soft clinging pressure tingling after she disappeared in the crowd of rancheros and hacendados, Sebastien’s retainers and friends, who filled the station. His sharp gray eye had already singled out his car on a side track, and while he waited for the agent Sebastien and Don Luis passed, walking behind the coffin.
He was seen, moreover, by them, and after they had mounted and were riding side by side at the head of the funeral procession Sebastien spoke. “Your gringo was at the station.”
Don Luis nodded. “Si, he came down on the train.”
After a silence Sebastien spoke again. “It seems that he has been having trouble with his freight.”
Ignoring the subtle suggestion conveyed by the accent, Don Luis laconically answered, “He is not the first.”
“But will be the last. Ernestino Chauvez, my second cousin, is in the department of freights. Yesterday he told me that, by special order, there are to be no more miscarriages of this man’s freight.”
The heavy brown mask refused even a sign. “This had better happened a year ago.”