Harrison glared at him suspiciously. "You're so smooth I don't know whether I can believe you or not. You'd sell your own father out for the right price."
"I pay my debts, señor—both kinds," suggested the Mexican, unmoved at this outburst.
"See that you do."
"Be sure I shall, amigo," returned Culvera, looking straight at him from narrowed eyes that told nothing.
The prizefighter took another turn up and down the room. He was anxious and harassed as well as driven hard by hatred and jealousy.
"The wolf is having me watched. His orders are that I'm not to be allowed to leave camp. I don't get any chance to see him alone. If you ask me, I think he's fixing to have me knifed in the dark," Harrison burst out.
"Shouldn't wonder," agreed the young officer with a pleasant smile. He lived in an atmosphere where such things were not uncommon, and on occasion could take a hand himself.
"Fat lot you care," complained the photoplay actor sullenly. "You wouldn't lift a hand to save your pardner."
Culvera patted him on the shoulder cheerfully. "What can I do? Do I not live under the shadow myself? Can I tell when the knife will fall on me? He is without bowels of mercy, this son of a thief. But this I know: if you are watched, you must not stay here. Gabriel will be suspicious lest we are plotting something against him. Good luck, amigo."
The heavyweight took away with him a heavy heart. He had reached the stage where his hand was against that of every man. Culvera he did not trust at all out of his sight beyond the point where the interests of the young Mexican were parallel to his. In the whole camp he had no friend, not even the girl for whom he fought. As for Pasquale, Harrison had told the truth. He believed the general had doomed him. Unless he struck first, he was a lost man. Why had he been fool enough to boast to the old scoundrel what he would do? His temper had robbed him of the chance to kill and then escape.