“It is Gil Ortega,” the rural remarked.  “A good shot that will save us some trouble, comrade!”

“How did you come here when you were wanted?” Kit asked as calmly as he could.

The rural smiled.  “By the president’s order, senor.  We were watching the cafe.”

“But it looks as if you had got in front of me.”

“It is so, senor.  We thought it best to follow this fellow.  He lost you when you turned back.”

Kit nodded, for he remembered that he had instinctively avoided one or two dark lanes that would have given him a shorter line than the streets.  Ortega and the rurales had taken the shorter way.  He thought it curious the report had not drawn a crowd, but although he heard voices nobody came near and he imagined the citizens were used to pistol shots.  Giving the rurales some money, he crossed the square to the presidio and going to his room lighted a cigarette.  He thought a smoke might be soothing, for he had got a jar.

After a time, he went to look for Alvarez and found him sitting in front of a table in the patio.  A soldier stood not far off, but the president was alone and the light of a shaded lamp fell upon a bundle of letters and documents.  Alvarez worked hard and had inherited a rather austere simplicity from his Indian ancestors.  Kit thought his plain white clothes and quiet calm gave him dignity.

“It looks as if my enemies meant to lose no time,” he said, in English, when Kit told him about his adventure.

“It’s their third try in a few weeks,” Kit agreed.  “Don’t you find the uncertainty about where they’ll strike next rather wearing?”

Alvarez shrugged.  “One gets used to these affairs; a custom of the country, and there is something to be said for it.  If the plot succeeds, it is an easy way of turning out a president and changing the government.  Perhaps it is better to kill a man or two than fight round barricades and burn the town.”

“In the North, we find it possible to change our government by vote.”

“You are cold-blooded people and don’t understand the passions of the South,” Alvarez rejoined with cynical humor.  “We have tried your plan, but one must be rich to buy the votes.  Besides, if one is beaten at the polls, there remains the last appeal to the knife.  But you will let this go.  We have something else to talk about.”

“That is so,” said Kit.  “To begin with, I must thank you for sending your rurales to look after me.”

“It is nothing,” Alvarez replied in a deprecatory tone.  “You are my guest and we try to take care of foreigners, because if they meet with accidents their consuls ask embarrassing questions.  Besides, watching them serves two objects.”

“Then, I expect you know I met Olsen at the cafe?” Kit suggested dryly.

Alvarez smiled.  “Yes; I know.  But I was not suspicious.”

“After all, one doesn’t generally conspire in a public place.  In fact, I don’t understand why Olsen met me there.”