The drummer followed this panegyric a little uncomfortably.
"Look here," he inquired: "how did I get such a swell reputation for double-crossing?"
"How! Caramba! Did you not despatch poor Lieutenant Rosales to his death at the casa fuerte in San Geronimo? He would have failed, but you gave him the strength to go on—but how far?" The bull-fighter held up a stubby forefinger and whispered an answer to his question: "Just as far as you pleased that he should go—and then he fell. But you: did any blame attach to you? None at all. You had a wealthy ship-owner sail up the Orinoco and bribe the insurgents in your behalf. Oh, we have heard everything, not through this paper, but—you know—from mouth to mouth. Caramba! this ship-owner poured out gold for you—box after box. It was easy enough to see whose gold it was!"
"Whose?" cried Strawbridge, quite amazed at so grotesque a misinterpretation of the facts.
"Whose! Whose! Diantre, Esteban! such a man! Why, señor, whose should it be but your own! Would any ordinary sailor have so much gold to fling about? No, it was your own gold, and only He who looks down upon the doings of men—only He knows how many other ways you are reaching out, raking this poor country of Rio Negro into your power. You had poor Rosales killed; he would have been a rival of yours one day, for he had the pride of Satan. You have a warm friend in Señor Tolliver, and yet he has been the enemy of all revolutionistas for years. You have twisted el Presidente around your finger, and—" Lubito paused and winked delicately—"and I hear that la señora is no bitter enemy of yours, either! Caramba! What a man!"
Strawbridge flushed and dropped his amused look.
"Say, just leave the señora out of this, will you?"
"How?"
"She is a lovely girl in the most painful position. I have done nothing more than any gentleman would do if he had a spark of manhood."
Lubito looked at the American rather blankly.