though I consider your claim unjust and exorbitant," Henderson declared.
"What security have you to leave behind?" Don Abrahan inquired, with cynical humor. A smile glimmered in his slow dark eyes, twitched in his beard, died away slowly, leaving his thin face harsh and severe.
"Nothing but my word," Henderson returned, meeting him eye to eye.
Don Abrahan lifted his shoulders, tilted his chin, raising his well-groomed beard. It was a slight movement, yet expressive in its discount of the proffered security.
"The body and services of the debtor are a man's security in this country, my son," he said.
"You mean you'll not let me go—that you'll hold me here, a slave, till this contrived, preposterous debt to you is paid?"
"It is the law."
Don Abrahan seemed to disclaim all responsibility in the manner of his reply, laying it all upon the law. What was a creditor, he seemed to ask, in the invincible machinery of the law, but a creature to do its bidding?
"You may be able to make slaves of these poor Indians and Mexicans under that law, but I'm no man's slave, I'm free to come and go. Your law cannot be applied to an American citizen, Don Abrahan."
Don Abrahan beamed on the defiant young man kindly. Benevolence seemed to sit in his soft
