“I suppose it was,” Kit replied incautiously.  “For all that, the onza wasn’t mine, and in a sense my efforts to find the owner cost me a very large sum.”

Gerald gave him a keen glance.  Askew was not boasting; he had enjoyed the command of money.

“Well,” he said, “I think I’d have kept the onza, whether it was mine or not.”  He paused and pulled a knife from its sheath.  The handle was ornamented and the narrow blade glittered in the light, although its point was dull.  “But what is this?  Has it a story?”

“Take care!” said Kit “It may be poisoned; the Meztisos use a stuff that will kill you if a very small quantity gets into your blood.  The fellow who owned that knife came near burying it in my back.”

“It looks as if you had had some adventures,” Gerald remarked, and leaning against the sideboard he lighted a cigarette.

Kit crossed the floor and stood by the open window.  The shadow of a cloud rested motionless, a patch of cool neutral color, on the gleaming yellow side of the hill.  A wild-cherry tree hung over a neighboring wall, and bees hummed drowsily among the flowers.  He was strangely satisfied to be at home, and it was hard to realize that not long since he had been engaged in a dangerous trade among the fever-haunted swamps.

“Have you any more curiosities?” Gerald asked.

Kit opened a drawer in his big desk, where he kept specimens of featherwork.  As he took them out he moved some documents and Gerald indicated one.

“Cristoval Askew?  Your name in Castilian, I suppose.  You write a curious hand.”

“A matter of precaution!  Anyhow, I didn’t sign this order, and that’s why I kept it.  The thing was rather important and we were lucky to find out the cheat in time, particularly as I imagined nobody could imitate my hand.  You’ll see my proper signature on the next document.”

“It’s not a very good counterfeit,” said Gerald, who compared the writing with the other, “This is a subject I know something about.  Penmanship is one of my few talents and I keep the customers’ signature book at the bank.  Yours is an uncommon hand, but it could be forged.  Let’s see!  May I use this paper?”

Kit nodded and Gerald, knitting his brows, wrote the name three or four times and then looked up.

“I think I’ve got it.  Hard to tell which is genuine, if you put them side by side?”

“Yes,” said Kit.  “I’m not sure I could tell which is mine.”

Gerald laughed.  “One has to study these things; part of my job, you see, and banks are cheated oftener than people think.  However, I expect you want to get to work and I’ll go back to the tarn.”

He went out and Kit tore up the paper.  He thought a talent like Gerald’s might be dangerous if it were used by an unscrupulous man.

CHAPTER III

THE HORSE SHOW