CHAPTER XV

THE BEGINNING OF LAW

McTurpin’s look of blind astonishment at Windham’s words was succeeded by a whitehot fury.  Two eyes gleamed with snake-like venom and two spots of red glowed in his cheeks, as though each had felt the impact of a sudden blow.  For a moment he neither moved nor spoke.  Then a hand, which trembled slightly, made a lightning move toward his hip.

“I wouldn’t,” drawled the voice of Robert Windham.  His right hand, loosely in a pocket of his coat, moved slightly.  “I’ve got you covered, Sydney Duck McTurpin ... if that’s your real name.”

The other’s hand fell at his side.  The two men’s glances countered, held each other, one calm, dignified, unafraid; the other, murderous, searching, baffled.  Presently, McTurpin turned and strode away.  Windham looked after the departing gambler. “’Fraid I’ve spoiled his morning,” he remarked to Nathan Spear.

“Yes—­to chance a knife or bullet in the back,” retorted Spear, uneasily.  Their further confidence was drowned in Brannan’s exhortations:  “On with the sale, boys,” he shouted.  “The side show’s over ... with nobody hurt, thank Heaven!  What’ll you bid for a lot in the southern part of town?  They’re a hundred varas square—­four times as big as the others.  Not as central, maybe, but in ten years I bet they’ll bring a thousand dollars.  What’s bid for a south lot, my hearties?”

“Twenty-five dollars,” said Inez Windham.

“Oh, come, now, Senorita,” cried the auctioneer, intriguingly, “twenty-five dollars for a hundred-vara lot.  Have you no more faith in San Francisco?”

“Its—­all I have....” the girl spoke almost in a whisper.

Brannan frowned.  He looked about him threateningly.  “Does anyone bid higher than Miss Windham?” he demanded.  There was no response.  Brannan’s gavel fell, decisively.  “Sold!” he cried, and half a dozen voices cheered.

Inez Windham made her way to the auctioneer’s stand and handed three banknotes to Alcalde Hyde.  “But, my dear young lady,” he expostulated, “you need only pay a fourth of the money down.  Six dollars and a quarter is enough.”

“Oh,” said Inez, “then I could have bought more, couldn’t I!” She turned to Brannan, eagerly.  “I could have bought four lots—­if I’d only known.”

Brannan smiled at her.  Then he turned to the crowd.  “What d’ye say, boys, shall we let her have ’em?” he inquired.  Instantly the answer came:  “Yes, yes, give her the four.  God bless her.  She’ll bring us luck.”

Impulsively, Inez mounted the platform; astonished at her own temerity, at the exuberance of some new freedom, springing from the barriers of a shielded life, she shouted at these strange, rough men about her:  “Thank you, gentlemen!” Then her mother’s look of horrified, surprise brought a sudden red into her cheeks.  She turned and fled.  Her father smiled, indulgently; Anita’s frown changed presently into a look of whimsical, perplexed affection.  “I am always forgetting, Inez mia,” she said, softly, “that this is a new day—­the day of the Americano.”