With every nerve on edge, Condon watched. Armstrong and the witch doctor, both now seated before the blaze, wasted no time on inconsequential talk.
Armstrong was speaking in Spanish: “You understand exactly what you are to tell those people when they come here tonight.”
“I do.”
“Very well. Here is half the money. You will receive as much more—provided you get Condon’s laborers away tomorrow—and keep them and all others away.”
The witch doctor nodded. “They will be away before tomorrow. When they leave here they will be afraid to return to the man Condon’s plantation.”
“They won’t even return for their things?”
The old man laughed shrilly. “They will believe everything on that plantation accursed when I have finished with them and will never desire to see their things again. I intended telling them that they must leave tomorrow. Now I have decided to have them leave tonight. It is better so.”
Again the witch doctor laughed.
“But——” and now there was something in his voice Condon had not detected there before—“there is more money to come to me, Senor.”
Armstrong’s tone was impatient. “You get that when the laborers have quit the plantation.”