“Well, what are you waiting for?” asked Thacker, angrily.  “Don’t you forget that I can upset your apple-cart any day I want to.  If old Urique knew you were an imposter, what sort of things would happen to you?  Oh, you don’t know this country, Mr. Texas Kid.  The laws here have got mustard spread between ’em.  These people here’d stretch you out like a frog that had been stepped on, and give you about fifty sticks at every corner of the plaza.  And they’d wear every stick out, too.  What was left of you they’d feed to alligators.”

“I might just as well tell you now, pardner,” said the Kid, sliding down low on his steamer chair, “that things are going to stay just as they are.  They’re about right now.”

“What do you mean?” asked Thacker, rattling the bottom of his glass on his desk.

“The scheme’s off,” said the Kid.  “And whenever you have the pleasure of speaking to me address me as Don Francisco Urique.  I’ll guarantee I’ll answer to it.  We’ll let Colonel Urique keep his money.  His little tin safe is as good as the time-locker in the First National Bank of Laredo as far as you and me are concerned.”

“You’re going to throw me down, then, are you?” said the consul.

“Sure,” said the Kid cheerfully.  “Throw you down.  That’s it.  And now I’ll tell you why.  The first night I was up at the colonel’s house they introduced me to a bedroom.  No blankets on the floor—­a real room, with a bed and things in it.  And before I was asleep, in comes this artificial mother of mine and tucks in the covers.  ‘Panchito,’ she says, ’my little lost one, God has brought you back to me.  I bless His name forever.’  It was that, or some truck like that, she said.  And down comes a drop or two of rain and hits me on the nose.  And all that stuck by me, Mr. Thacker.  And it’s been that way ever since.  And it’s got to stay that way.  Don’t you think that it’s for what’s in it for me, either, that I say so.  If you have any such ideas, keep ’em to yourself.  I haven’t had much truck with women in my life, and no mothers to speak of, but here’s a lady that we’ve got to keep fooled.  Once she stood it; twice she won’t.  I’m a low-down wolf, and the devil may have sent me on this trail instead of God, but I’ll travel it to the end.  And now, don’t forget that I’m Don Francisco Urique whenever you happen to mention my name.”

“I’ll expose you to-day, you—­you double-dyed traitor,” stammered Thacker.

The Kid arose and, without violence, took Thacker by the throat with a hand of steel, and shoved him slowly into a corner.  Then he drew from under his left arm his pearl-handled .45 and poked the cold muzzle of it against the consul’s mouth.

“I told you why I come here,” he said, with his old freezing smile.  “If I leave here, you’ll be the reason.  Never forget it, pardner.  Now, what is my name?”

“Er—­Don Francisco Urique,” gasped Thacker.

From outside came a sound of wheels, and the shouting of some one, and the sharp thwacks of a wooden whipstock upon the backs of fat horses.