“I'm glad the end is in sight,” Webster replied. “We have no interest in this revolution, John, and it isn't up to us to horn in on the play; yet if it went against the Ruey faction, I fear we'd be forced into active service in spite of ourselves. There is such a thing as fighting to save one's skin, you know.”
Don Juan laughed pleasurably. “What a shame we missed the row out beyant at the railroad em-bankmint,” he declared.
“I wish you'd kept out of it, Don Juan. What business had you in the fight at the cuartd? Suppose you'd been killed?”
“Small loss!” Don Juan retorted.
“I should have mourned you nevertheless, John.”
“Would you that same?” Don Juan's buttermilk eyes lighted with affection and pleasure. “Would it put a pang in the heart of you, sor, to see me stretched?”
“Yes, it would, John. You're a wild, impulsive, lunatic, worthless Irishman, but there's a broad vein of pay-ore in you, and I want you to live until I can develop it. When Mr. Geary returns to operate the mine, he'll need a foreman he can trust.”
“And do you trust me, sor?”
“I do indeed, John. By the way, you never gave me your word of honour to cut out red liquor for keeps. Up till to-day I've had to watch you—and I don't want to do that. It isn't dignified for either of us, and from to-day on you must be a man or a mouse. If you prove yourself a man, I want you in my business; if you prove yourself a mouse, somebody else may have you. How about you, John? The cantinas will be open to-night, and firewater will be free to the soldiers of the new republic. Must I watch you to-night?”
Don Juan shook his reckless red head. “I'll never let a drop of liquor cross my lips without your permission, sor,” he promised simply. “I am the man and you are the master.”