much breath. Go your way, Simon Villalobo; that way is not mine."
Pablo clamped his knees three times in rapid sequence against Benito's ribs, that being the private and confidential signal between them for a quick and decisive start. Benito responded faithfully, if not with any shocking rapidity, jogging off on his short legs with dainty steps. Simon, not to be abandoned in his extremity in this cynical manner, came trotting beside Benito, well able to outrun him and have plenty of speed to spare, at the best gait he ever struck in all his useful years.
"For the love of Our Señor!" he pleaded, "do not run away and leave me here to die."
Pablo rode on, no pity in his face. Simon put out his hand to catch the bridle; Pablo pushed it aside with a manner of contemptuous denial and disbelief.
"I have heard there is a secret place somewhere on the old Guiterrez ranch, a place where the Franciscans hid, when the king's days ended here. They say that only you and Don Felipe know of this place, and Don Felipe, God receive him! he is dead."
Pablo rode on, his old eyes but a very little crack, indeed.
"Hide me in this place, Pablo, and all I have saved will be yours. Here—take this money and show me the place. What is gold to a man who is already dead!"
Simon produced several small gold-pieces as he
