The morning of the following day the rowdies were still on guard, when two lancers came up the street at a smart trot and drew rein before the tavern.
“Is this El Cuervo’s tavern?” asked one of them.
“Sí, Señor.”
“Good. Here’s a letter.”
The innkeeper, his face the picture of surprise, took the missive, and as he could not read, handed it to Pacheco, who opened it and read:
Dear Friends:
By the time you receive this letter, I shall be many leagues away. I have left Cordova alive, in spite of your warnings. I left no money in the pocketbook, but something better for the salvation of your souls. Regards to my dear friends.
Q.
Pacheco went white with anger.
“Now we can’t do a thing,” he murmured.