Snarling, the big fellow started to rise.  As he did so Tom Reade’s fist landed, sending the Greaser bully to earth.  The big fellow made several efforts to rise, but each time Tom’s fist sent him flat again, until a final heavy blow silenced him.

“Don Luis,” explained Tom, quietly, turning and bowing, “I can’t begin to tell you how much I regret this unavoidable scene.  When I encountered this big bully I was at once tempted to resign my position here with you, for I realize, of course, that I cannot hope to go on with any such man in a position where I would have to depend so much upon his cheerful and friendly service.  I would have resigned, but I realize, Don Luis, how much expense you have gone to in the matter of getting us here, and I know, also, that there might be a good deal of delay in getting some one else to take our places.”

“Gato will not trouble you again,” promised Don Luis, bowing charmingly.

“Of course not, sir,” Tom rejoined.  “I couldn’t work here and let him go on annoying me all the time.  Don Luis, I shall have to crave your indulgence to the extent of discharging this fellow and securing another manager who is less of a wild beast and more of a man.”

“Oh, but I cannot let Pedro Gato go,” protested Don Luis, quickly.  “He is too old an employ, too valuable a man.  No other could manage my peons as he does.”

“Let me go!” begged Gato, harshly.  “Let me go, that I may have all my time to myself that I may find the best way to avenge myself on this miserable Gringo.  Don Luis, do not think of attempting to keep me penned in El Sombrero.  I must be idle that I may have the more time to think.”

Tom remained silent.  He had stated his case, and the decision must be found by Don Luis.

“For many reasons,” whispered Dr. Tisco, “let Gato go.  For either good or bad reasons it will be best to let him go.”

“You are right, Carlos,” nodded the mine owner quickly.  Then, raising his voice: 

“My good Gato, you shall have your wish,” he went on, in his purring tone.  “Yet do not think there is anger behind my words.  I let you go because it is your wish.  I do not so decide that I may humiliate you, but because you have served me well.  When you need a friend, Gatito, you will know to whom to send word.  Go your way in friendship.”

Even Tom Reade, with his somewhat scant knowledge of Spanish, was quick to note, mentally, the meaning of that term, “Gatito,” which meant “little Gato,” and was used as a term of affection.  It was a form of telegraphy that was not wasted on the departing mine manager, either, for it told him that Don Luis had some excellent reason for thus quickly falling in with the wishes of the new American chief engineer.

With a grateful smile at Don Luis, then with a scowl of unutterable hatred flung in Tom Reade’s direction, Pedro Gato next turned on his heel and strode up the path.