His smile faded and he gave Kit a keen glance.  “Why did you pull out?  It wasn’t for my money.  You haven’t told me yet.”

“No,” said Kit, with some embarrassment.  “I hardly think it’s much of a story, but if you like I’ll tell you now.”

After a few moments he stopped awkwardly, and Adam raised his hand.

“Go on.  I want to get the girl properly fixed.”

Kit was not skilled at sketching character, but he drew Grace’s portrait well and when he stopped Adam made a sign of sympathy.

“You have helped me place her.  Don’t know I’d have trusted another man’s judgment when he talked about his sweetheart, but you’re not a fool.  Well, it seems to me the girl’s worth getting.”

“Miss Osborn is not my sweetheart.  It is possible I shall never see her again.”

“But you can’t forget her?”

“No,” said Kit quietly; “I can’t forget.”

Adam was silent for some moments and then looked up.

“You’re like Peter, slow and staunch, but that’s one reason you’re my partner.  Well, I know Osborn’s kind; folk we have no use for in the United States.  White trash, we call them; men with no abilities, whose foolish pride makes them think it’s mean to work.  Reckon they’ve first claim on the soft jobs and don’t belong to the world of fighting men.  But I guess they listen when money talks.”

Kit said nothing, although he thought Adam’s concluding remark significant, and the old man went on: 

“Don Hernando helped me on my feet when Vanhuyten and I first came along this coast, with about a thousand dollars and a worn-out schooner.  He’s been my friend ever since and now he’s hard up against it I’ve got to see him out.  Guess it’s going to cost me high, but when the job’s put over there ought to be some money left and I don’t know that you need forget the girl if she hasn’t forgotten you.  Well, perhaps I’ve said enough, and now I’ll go and see where Don Hernando is.”

Adam got up and as he crossed the patio Kit noted that his shoulders were bent and his movement slack.  Adam had changed much since their first meeting at the Florida hotel.  He had some very obvious faults, but Kit knew what he owed him and felt disturbed.

CHAPTER III

THE GOLD ONZA

Kit paused as he wound the long silk sash round his waist, and looked out of the window of his room at the presidio.  Square blocks of houses, colored white and yellow, ran down the hill.  Here and there a palm rose from an opening, and the dusty green of the alameda broke the monotony of the flat roofs and straight, blank walls that gave the town an Eastern look.

Kit noted the strength of the presidio’s situation.  The old building stood high, its battlemented roof commanded the narrow streets, and there was a broad open space all round.  He thought a few machine-guns would make it impregnable, since a revolutionary mob was not likely to be provided with artillery.