"Yes, yes, but we are Frontier Guards—me and another man; we just arrested them, that's all. Two thousand pesos!"
"They fought?"
"Oh, yes, we had to disable one of them; in fact I myself shot him through the pistol arm. Then they surrendered, made their bow to force. Two thousand golden dollars!"
"Miraculous! Well, señor corporal, may it be permitted to ask where forage is sold?"
"Certainly, step this way. I, Pablo Juarez, rich! Two thousand! Santa Catalina, thou shalt have candles, a box of candles!"
The voices faded out, and Jim lay back, wiping the sweat from his face. "Wheugh"—then he burst out laughing—"the liars," he howled, "the gentle, earnest liars! Oh, pat me, Curly, for I'm weak—the lop-eared, spavined, sway-backed, cock-eyed liars!"
But Curly was shy of Spanish, and wanted the news. "What liars?"
"Everybody—they're all liars—the whole world—liars! Liars! They couldn't leave it to facts, which are bad enough, but they've lied, and sworn to lies and perjured themselves with oaths, the thugs, the dirty bar-room toughs, selling their souls to that young Ryan—and made a remnant sale of themselves for witnesses that I murdered an old man!"
"What, Ryan? It wasn't you who spoiled old Ryan. It was your father in honest fighting!"
"Who cares for honesty when there's a millionaire to pay for souls in cash? They swear that I hired you and all your robbers to have old Ryan murdered, then did the killing myself, and turned loose your gang to massacre Ryan's friends—the cowards, the lying cowards!"