“I can tell you something, you German Judas!” he said coldly. “You will live to see the day when these chains, and this safe old chapel, will be as a paradise you once lived in. You will beg to crawl on your knees to be again comfortably inside this door.”
“Is that some Mexican joke?” asked Conrad, and Rotil laughed again.
“Sure it is, and it will be on you! They tell me you collect girls in Sonora for a price. Well, they have grown fond of you,––the Indian women of Sonora! They say you must end your days here with them. I have not heard of a ransom price they would listen to,––though you might think of what you have to offer.”
“Offer?” growled Conrad. “How is there anything to offer in Sonora when Perez here has sent the guns south?”
“True, the matter of ransom seems to rest with Señor Perez who is saving of words.”
“I put the words on paper, and sent it by your man,” said Perez. “What else is there to say?”
“Oh, that?” returned Rotil. “My boys play tricks, and make jokes with me like happy children. Yes, Chappo did bring words on paper,––foolish words he might have written himself. I take no account of such things. You are asked for the guns, and I get foolish words on paper of a woman you would trade to me, and guns you would send me.”
“Well?”
“Who gives you right to trade the woman, señor?”
“Who has a better right? She belongs to me.”