Alone on his bed he conned over the tale Urgo had told. Unfamiliar as he was with the Latin temperament, the belief of the romance peoples in the very reality of inherited curse and whips of Nemesis pursuing innocent generations, yet the raw tragedy of the story fired his imagination. He tried to put himself in the place of the girl he loved with all her pride of race and family; to feel with her the stripes of scorn the despicable Urgo had laid on. El Rojo’s desecration of the mission sanctuary by an act of blood; his flight into the desert with the pearls of the Virgin and a girl, “who was wife to him without priest or book”; the blotting of the mission from sight of man; all this cycle of tragedy of the dim past linked to a gloriously vital creature of the present by the chance colour of her hair. The thing was monstrously absurd! And yet—
A knock at the door and Don Padraic entered. He turned to beckon some one behind him. In the candlelight Grant saw the head of a giant stoop to avoid the lintel.
“Bim Bagley!”
The desert man crossed to the bed by a single wide step and threw both arms about Grant in a bear hug.
“You dam’d old snoozer. You dam’d old snoozer!” was all Bim could give in greeting. Don Padraic stepped outside and closed the door on the reunion. Bim let his friend’s body lightly down on the pillows and sat back to grin into Grant’s eyes.
“I sure been burnin’ the ground all over North Sonora on your trail,” he rumbled. “You’re the original little Mexican jumping bean.”
“Jumped right into a flock of trouble, old side partner, with more right beyond the front line waiting for me. The reserves seem to have come up just the right time.” Grant gave his pal’s great paw a squeeze. Bim roared assurance:
“Reserves got all bogged down through failure in liaison—just like the days of the Big Show. But they’re with you now from hell to breakfast, young fellah; an’ I think I know the name of the outfit we got to trim. Name’s Hamilcar Urgo, huh?” His buoyant spirit was wine to Grant; the very animal force of him seemed to fill the old room.
“Ran acrost that li’l sidewinder this afternoon when the old Don was bringing me up here from Magdalena. Just our two cars on the road. He pulls up when we’re makin’ to pass him—face on him just as pleasant as a polecat’s. Your friend the Don passes the time of day courteous as you please.
“‘I had the honour to visit your daughter this day,’ whinnies this Urgo gazabo; of course he speaks in Spanish, which is nuts for me. ‘And I discover she is entertaining a convict who escaped from a chain gang.’” Bim grinned. “I take it that convict is my li’l friend from Noo Yawk.”