“I guess that's about all of your job, Bill. As for me, I'll camp right here. I'll have a deal of surveying to do and I plan to sweat the booze out of that Cafferty person. I'll make Don Juan my chain man and run the tail off him. Then I'll be busy with preliminary plans, arranging for labour and so on, and when I'm idle I'll go hunting.”
In conformity with this plan, therefore, Billy said good-bye to his friend and packed out for San Miguel de Padua bright and early next morning. During the following ten days Webster managed to keep himself fairly busy around the camp at the mine; then for a week he hunted and fished, and finally, when that began to pall on him, his agile mind returned to business and the consideration of the possibility of a flaw in Billy's title to the claim; whereupon he suddenly decided to return to Buenaventura and investigate that title fully before proceeding to throw dollars right and left. While socially he was wildly prodigal with his dollars, in business matters no Scotchman was more canny or more careful of his baubees.
At the head of his little cavalcade, therefore, he rode out one morning for the railroad, whereat Providence, in its inscrutable wisdom, ordained that en route he should fall in with no less a personage than Don Ricardo Luiz Ruey, ne Andrew Bowers. Ricardo was mounted, armed, and alone, and at sight of Webster he shouted with delight and spurred toward him.
“What the devil! You, Rick, the government cut-up. What are you doing in these parts?” Webster rode up and shook hands.
“Oh, I'm Robin Hooding it around this part of the country. It is so secluded, you know, and Sarros hasn't any friends or any telegraph lines or any garrisons up this way. I heard in San Miguel de Padua that you were camped yonder, and I was on my way over to confer with you on matters of state.”
“You'll have to confer as we ride along. How does your business progress, Rick?”
“Beyond my wildest expectations. By the way, I need your help, friend Webster.”
“I'll do anything within reason, Rick.”
“I figured you would, so I have already imposed on your good nature to a slight extent. Met your friend Geary at El Buen Amigo a couple of weeks ago, just before he sailed for the United States. He was telling me you had to have a lot of tools for road building, so I cabled in a secret cipher to the So-brantean revolutionary junta in New Orleans to ship these tools to you immediately. They arrived on the last trip of the Atlanta and now repose in Leber's warehouse waiting for you to call and remove them.”
“You scoundrel! What have you sent me?”