“He’s got a bit of needle against this one and so she’s got to go.”
“What was the needle?”
“Something that touched him where he lives. But Mr. B. has a long arm and a way of getting his own back.”
“Then she’s to be Mrs. Sagrado B.,” Sumecta said in English. “And what is Mr. K. to be?”
“He’s going to be beef-stoo,” Mr. Wiskey said in the same tongue. “And if he don’t like being in the soup, he can go in the cold-meat cart.”
“I wonder at Mr. B. starting this,” Sumecta said, “just at this time, when the other thing is getting ready. This woman business will make a stir.”
“Naturally, and while the stir is on, we’ll be visiting friends in Santa Barb. But here comes Ben. Viva Ben!
We want only Ben,
Ben, Ben and white men.”
The white men present joined in the cry of “Long live the Christian.” Captain Cary, edging back to his seat with his cigar, was doubtful for a moment if they meant him.