“Meg,” broke in her father, “I hoped that four months’ residence in a Spanish household would give you a more polite way of expressing yourself.”
“Mr. Power takes that as a compliment, I am sure. When we parted he was running away from the flesh-pots of Egypt—or was it Bison? Evidently he has succeeded in his object. He is lean as a herring. Where did you find him, Dad? Ruling a tribe of Araucanians, I’m certain.”
“If I hadn’t found him, you would never have seen me again, Girly. But we can’t tell the horrible story here on the quay. Take me to a long cane chair, and mix me a whisky and soda. That wretched little tub of a steamer tried to stand on its head last night.”
One thing was evident. Power had convinced his companions of the real danger they had escaped. He had said no word concerning the canyon, while it constituted the Indians’ defense; but it was betraying no secret to make clear its perils during the journey to the coast.
Next day, after breakfast, Sinclair drew him aside, and handed him a sealed envelop.
“Meg objects strongly to the arrangement we entered into, in so far as it affects me,” he explained. “She insists that I return your draft. I was turning the matter over in my own mind, and I was not altogether happy about it. Now I see that she is right.”
“But both of you happen to be wrong,” said Power.
“We’re not. Why in blazes should you pay me? The boot is on the other leg. I owe you my life. Look here, Power, the thing can’t be argued. If it pleases you to let my Spanish friends have their share of the money, I’ll not say a word, one way or the other; but I’ll see you cremated before I cash that draft!”
“Let me defray your out-of-pocket expenses, at any rate.”
“Not a centavo! If you say anything more about it, I’ll get an actuary to calculate my life value, and worry you till you accept a settlement in full.”