“Pay for them now! Pay for them now!” shouted several.
“Cash or scalps, says I.”
“Carrajo! where is the captain to get the money when we reach El Paso more than here? He’s neither a Jew nor a banker; and it’s news to me if he’s grown so rich. Where, then, is all the money to some from?”
“Not from the Cabildo, unless the scalps are forthcoming; I’ll warrant that.”
“True, José! They’ll give no money to him, more than to us; and we can get it ourselves if we show the skins for it. That we can.”
“Wagh! what cares he for us, now that he has got what he wanted?”
“Not a niggur’s scalp. He wouldn’t let us go by the Prieto, when we kud ’a gathered the shining stuff in chunks.”
“Now he wants us to throw away this chance too. We’d be green fools to do it, I say.”
It struck me at this moment that I might interfere, with success. Money seemed to be what the mutineers wanted; at least it was their alleged grievance; and rather than witness the fearful drama which appeared to be on the eve of enactment, I would have sacrificed my fortune.
“Men!” cried I, speaking so that I could be heard above the din, “if you deem my word worth listening to, it is this: I have sent a cargo to Chihuahua with the last caravan. By the time we get back to El Paso the traders will have returned, and I shall be placed in possession of funds double what you demand. If you will accept my promise, I shall see that you be paid.”