“I tell you I don’t know nothin’ ’bout what yer talkin’,” flung back Mexican Charlie.
“Ye lie twice, but yer too yellow to draw at thet word,” reiterated Sam. “I knows thet the boy got away, but whar did he go?”
“Don’t know nothin’ ’bout it. Who be ye?”
“Leavin’ the lie fer the moment, ye ought to know me, Charlie. You an’ me has met afore, but a long time ago an’ times has changed me, but yer the same low-down houn’ thet ye always was. I’ve growed some fresh whiskers since ye last seen me, an’ fer reasons. Look sharp, Mex! Look under the whiskers and mebby ye’ll see a scar thar,” urged the old guide, lifting his whiskers with the left hand. “Do ye see it, Mex?”
The mountaineer nodded, but he was puzzled. That scar seemed to bring back the past, but Mexican Charlie plainly could not fix the thing in his mind.
“Mex! Ye put thet scar thar. It was up in the Klondike years ago, and ye give it to me when I wasn’t lookin’. Ye got away then an’ ye know why, cause my hand wasn’t all crinkled up with the rheumatiz like it is now. But listen, Mex! I’ve been waitin’ fer ye, knowin’ thet some day you an’ me would meet up with each other an’ then we’d talk it all over nice an’ friendly like. I didn’t recognize ye when ye come to our camp t’other night an’ told us ye come from Malcolm Hornby with orders fer us to git out ’cause we was on his property. Ye lied then, too, jest as you’ve been doin’ tonight. Mex, I’m Sam Conifer!”
The announcement was like a blow in the face to Mexican Charlie. Mex knew his torturer now. To the others the announcement meant nothing except as they saw how nervous it had made their leader.
“Do ye know what I’m goin’ to do now, Mex?” purred Sam.
“Yer goin’ to git out o’ here afore somebody shoots ye up!” shouted the mountaineer.
“Shore I be, but not yit. Fust, I’m goin’ to give ye the same kind o’ scar that ye give me up in the Klondike. Turn yer head round sideways jest as I was doin’ when ye give it to me,” urged Sam gently.