He laughed again so hard that Darragh felt his pistols shaking against his body.
"So you have kill Nick Salzar, eh?" continued Quintana with perfect good humour. "My frien', I am oblige to you for what you do. You are surprise? Eh? I is ver' simple, my frien' Smith. What I want of a man who can be kill? Eh? Of what use is he to me? Voila!"
He laughed, patted Darragh on the shoulder with one of his pistols.
"You, now — you could be of use. Why? Because you are a better man than was Nick Salzar. He who kills is better than the dead."
Then, swiftly his dark features altered:
"My frien' Smith," he said, "I have come here for my property, not to kill. I have recover my property. Why shall I kill you? To say that I am a better man? Yes, perhaps. Bu also I should be oblige to say that also I am a fool. Yaas! A poor damfool."
Without shifting his eyes he made a motion with one pistol to his men. As they turned and entered the thicket, Quintana's intent gaze became murderous.
"If I mus' kill you I shall do so. Otherwise I have sufficient trouble to keep me from ennui. My frien', I am going home to enjoy my property. If you live or die it signifies nothing to me. No! Why, for the pleasure of killing you, should I bring your dirty gendarmes on my heels?"
He backed away to the edge of the thicket, venturing one swift and evil glance at the girl who stood as though dazed.
"Listen attentively," he said to Darragh. "One of my men remains hidden very near. He is a dead shot. His aim is at your — sweetheart's — body. You understan'?"