"Them Indians have gone off down the river a mile, to where there's grass, to let their horses feed, and to eat a bite themselves," said the storekeeper; "and I reckon likely they'll be more amiable when they get back here again later on. Anyways, I hope as they will. I told that Mahletonkwa as he'd orter be reasonable." All the time Backus had been in the house he had fawned on Don Nepomuceno in a way that had made Stephens sick when he remembered how he had called him a "close-fisted old hunks" an hour before, and he watched the storekeeper returning to his own abode with a feeling of absolute disgust.
Turning back into the patio he found himself in the presence of Manuelita, who was crossing it on some errand. As all the doors gave on the patio, it acted, so to speak, as the passage by which everybody went from any one room to any other, except where two or three rooms opened into each other en suite. "Señorita," he said, "one word with you, if I may. It would really make you very happy, it would make your heart quite free of sorrow, if this money were paid and things settled in that way?"
"Oh, Madre de Dios!" she exclaimed, "but can you doubt it for an instant? I would dance for joy"; and her eyes grew brighter on the instant with the thought.
"Very well," answered Stephens cautiously, "I'll see what can be done. I'll promise you to do my best to bring about a peaceful settlement. I can't say more."
He went back into the sitting-room and wrote a third letter to the cashier of the First National Bank at Santa Fé, where he kept a small balance. He asked the cashier to telegraph to Rockyfeller at Denver to say that he, Stephens, was unavoidably detained at Santiago, and to ask Rockyfeller to send the thousand dollars to his account at the Santa Fé bank, and he likewise wrote a cordial answer to Rocky's letter, explaining matters at length. As soon as he had finished these he hastened with them to the post-office. The ambulance which brought the mail from Fort Wingate stood before the door, and a fresh team was being harnessed to it, while Mr. Backus was in the act of bringing out the little San Remo mail-bag, and at sight of Stephens stowed it hastily inside.
For the little San Remo mail-bag was all but empty. The two fat letters Stephens had entrusted to him for the governor and the general were not inside it; their thin papery ashes lay amid the glowing coals of the cedar-wood fire on Mr. Backus's kitchen hearth, and had helped to cook the stage-driver's dinner. The impeccable United States postmaster had opened and read them; decided on the spot that he did not want these Navajos interfered with just at present; and had taken this summary method of blocking the game.
"Here's a couple more letters," exclaimed Stephens, running up. "Can't you put them in?" and he held them out to Backus in total ignorance of his perfidy.
"Bag's sealed up now," said the postmaster officially. "Contrary to U.S. regulations to open it again."
Stephens turned instantly to the mail-driver. "I wish you'd oblige me by posting these for me when you get to Santa Fé. They're stamped all right."