“Ladron!” snapped Torres, reaching across the table, motioning for Guadalupe to return the bottle.
“You are a fool,” declared Guadalupe in Spanish.
“You drink so much you cannot talk sense.”
“The bottle,” ordered Torres harshly.
Guadalupe grinned and put it back on the table.
“That is as it should be,” muttered Torres, somewhat mollified. “I pay well, do I not, Steve?”
“Of that I am always sure,” grinned Guadalupe. “Few men fail to pay Guadalupe. Some have failed to pay—in gold.”
Torres gulped another drink and nodded vehemently.
“But they paid, eh, compadre? Oh, you know how, my friend. Guadalupe is no fool.”
“When you say it, I wonder,” grinned Guadalupe. “But I do not like your scheme, Torres. A priest is not a good thing to bring to the Rancho Sierra. None have ever entered, although there have been times when——”