"That will do," said Rogeen. "Madrigal," he put into that word all the still terror of a cool courage, "that is your grave."
For a full moment he paused. "You will stay out of it just as long as you stay off my land—out of reach of my gun. Don't ever even pass the road by my place.
"Your boss has had his warning. This is yours. That grave will stay open, day and night, waiting for you.
"Good-night, Señor Madrigal. Go fast and don't look back."
The last injunction was entirely superfluous.
After the night had swallowed up the fleeing figure Bob rolled on the bank and laughed until his ribs ached.
"No more oat sacks for Señor Madrigal! I wonder who the other one was—and what became of him?"
CHAPTER XV
It was October. The bolls had opened beautifully. The cotton was ready to pick. As Bob and Noah walked down the rows the stalks came up to their shoulders. It was the finest crop of cotton either of them had ever seen.