“Did he say that?” asked the judge.
“Ay, that did he, but I wouldn’t listen to him. I was mad with him for winning my twenty dollars; and I told him that, if he wanted the stranger’s purse, he might take it himself, and be d——d; that I wasn’t goin’ to pull the hot chestnuts out of the fire for him. And I got on my horse, and rode away like mad.
“My head spun round like a mill. I couldn’t get over my loss. I took the twenty dollars fifty more to heart than any money I had ever gambled. I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t dare go back to you, for I knew you would scold me.”
“I shouldn’t have scolded you, Bob; or, if I had, it would only have been for your good. I should have summoned Johnny before me, called together a jury of twelve of the neighbours, got you back your twenty dollars fifty, and sent Johnny out of the country; or, better still, out of the world.”
These words were spoken with much phlegm, but yet with a degree of feeling and sympathy which greatly improved my opinion of the worthy judge. Bob also seemed touched. He drew a deep sigh, and gazed at the Alcalde with a melancholy look.
“It’s too late,” muttered he; “too late, squire.”
“Perhaps not,” replied the judge; “but let’s hear the rest.”
“Well,” continued Bob, “I kept ridin’ on at random, and when evenin’ came I found myself near the palmetto field on the bank of the Jacinto. As I was ridin’ past it, I heard all at once a tramp of a horse. At that moment the queerest feelin’ I ever had came over me; a sort of cold shiverin’ feel. I forgot where I was; sight and hearin’ left me; I could only see two things, my twenty dollars fifty, and the well-filled belt of the stranger I had left at Johnny’s. Just then a voice called to me.
“‘Whence come, countryman, and whither going?’ it said.