“But how did you get ahead so fast?” young Jones wanted to know.  “That’s what sticks me.”

The bandit laughed.  “Zat is simple.  You see, one day ze lieutenant she are killed.  Soon I become a lieutenant.  Nex’ day, ze captain.  So I am captain, Byme-bye, ze major—­so I became major.  Pretty damn soon ze colonel—­so I am colonel.  I kill ze general for myself.”  As he spoke, he lifted the chair at the table, and brought it down on the floor with a bang.

“What!” cried Gilbert, at this description of an opera-bouffe army.

“But we shall not talk of me,” Lopez said.  “We shall spik of you.  ’Ow you been since I seen you, what?” He tossed away his cigarette.

Gilbert offered him another of his own.

“No, gratias; zat’s for peon.  Zese from ze swell hotel National an Torreon—­zay are good.  I steal zem myself,” pulling out his case and lighting another.  He pushed his chair so that he could see young Jones better.  “Well, old frand, how you feel zis long time?  Eh?”

“I?” said Gilbert.  He smiled a little, and looked significantly about the room.

Lopez caught the look.  “So?” he said, sympathy in his tone.  “It ees too bad.”  He paused, letting the smoke curl over his head again.  “Ah!  I see her now!  You are ze nephew of Uncle Henry which owns zis rancho which are to be foreclosed by moggidge.”  Gilbert nodded.  “H’m!  Zat shall make her all different some more!  Axplain for me, so I shall know.”

Gilbert replied:  “There’s not much to tell.  I borrowed ten thousand from my uncle; ten more from Hardy—­the tall man, and our neighbor.  He’s a loan shark—­you know, in a mortgage.  I go to the war.  When I come home, cattle all gone.  No money.  That’s all.”  He made a gesture as though the world were tumbling about him.

“I see,” said Lopez.  “And wiz ze strange ideas of your country, it makes you feel bad.”

“Well, it seems like a pretty good chunk of trouble to hand an average citizen,” young Jones said.

“Trouble?” Lopez let out the word in wrath.  “You are no trouble.  You only sink you are.”

“You don’t call this trouble?  If it isn’t then I don’t know what trouble is!”

“Not really trouble.”  He came over and put his hand on Gilbert’s shoulder.  “Only trouble you are made for yourself because you go by law what are foolish instead of sense what are wise.”  He gave him an affectionate pat.  Just then Uncle Henry wheeled himself in, neither inquiring nor caring if he was wanted or not.

“Well, I sure told ’em their right names for once, gol darn ’em!” he chuckled.  Lopez glared at him.  “Pardon me!  My mistake!” the invalid apologized; and rolled into the alcove.  “So, you sink you have much trouble,” Lopez continued, as though the invalid had not come in to interrupt them.  The clock struck five.  He listened to it, and then said, “I have time to spare—­” He went to the window and looked out.