The outrage set up in the sick man's head vague fancies of liberating Dolores. He thought of divorce. The Spanish girl ought to get a divorce. She had every provocation. But of course there were no divorces in Roman Catholic Rio Negro.
The sound of a chair being dragged close to his own caused Strawbridge to glance around. He saw Lubito smiling and settling a chair in the turf by his side. On the other side of Lubito, Esteban was unfolding another chair. The peon youth seemed thinner and more care-worn than on the night when he had attacked General Fombombo.
The bull-fighter was very cordial.
"Caramba! I'm glad to see you alive, señor! I read in the paper how badly you were wounded, and what a hero you were." At the drummer's demurring gesture, he persisted with renewed force: "Oh, we know all about it. I said to Esteban, 'You called Señor Tomas a cobarde because he did not choose to assist you that night in the palacio. Nothing could be farther from the truth.'"
The peon youth stopped his steady stare into the plaza, to ask:
"But why did he turn against me?"
Lubito shrugged and made a gesture.
"How should I know? Am I as deep as the sea? Perhaps to save you. Had he not used his influence on el Presidente, no doubt you would have been rotting to-day in La Fortuna; but instead he had you turned out, and here you are, as free as a bird."
"I don't understand why he turned against me in a fight," repeated the peon, doggedly.
"Caramba! If you had a head to understand that, Esteban, you would not need to sit here gnawing your fingers now. I am far brighter than you, Esteban, but this Señor Strawbridge is a dark man to me. He moves in his own way, Esteban. He is like a cayman in the Orinoco; no man can tell when or where or at what he strikes."