“But I—­must pay him back,” Gilbert wanted to make it clear.

“I ‘ave planty money.  You mus’ not worry, my frand.  I give you ten sousand dollar which you can send back should you be so foolish.”

But Gilbert was obdurate.  “I can pay it back.  The oil—­”

“I am sorry.  Zere is no oil,” the bandit informed him.

This was the consummating blow to the young man.  “But you said—­”

“I tell you one damn big lie,” Lopez laughed.  “But ’as she not a million dollar from ze ’usband which I kill?” He nodded toward Lucia.

“Oh!” cried she.  “How can you speak of such things—­now?”

“You don’t think we’d touch one penny of that, do you?” Gilbert followed up.

Lopez looked puzzled.  “Ze law is give it to you.”

Disgustedly Gilbert cried, “The Law!”

“Ha!” The bandit saw his chance.  “Is it possible all ze law what you love is not so damn wise, after all?” He was tickled at his own perspicacity.  “However, it makes no never mind.  You shall still be rich any’ow.  I shall send back all ze cattle what I steal from you.”

“You will?  That’s generous, to say the least.”  And Jones couldn’t help smiling.

“And planty more what I shall steal for you myself personal.  Now zen, is all right?  You ’ave ze money, ze lady, everyzing.”  Surely there was nothing lacking, Lopez tried to make it plain, for complete happiness.  There were no bars now in the path of content.

Yet this stupid young American was asking questions still!  “But have I everything?” he said, and, stooping, picked up the gun that Pell had dropped just before he was killed.

Lopez was amazed.  “Have you?” he said, and pointed to Lucia.  “There is it!”

“But is it all right?” the young man persisted.

A look of scorn came over the face of the bandit.  “If it makes you ’appy, what you care?  You should not look ze gift ’appiness in ze face.  Go on, take her.  Ees nice; you like ’er.”

Still Gilbert hesitated.  “But I can’t now.”

“And why not?” the bandit asked.  He was thoroughly weary of Gilbert’s dilly-dallying, so foreign to his own philosophy.

“Maybe sometime.  By and bye; but not now.”

“If she is all right by and bye, why the ’ell is she all wrong now?” cried Lopez, incensed.

“You’re not as sorry as I am.  God knows, I want her.”

Lopez was desperate by this time. “Dios!” he fairly yelled.  “You Americanos make me seek!  I shall come ’ere and work like ’ell all day to make you ’appy, and the best I get is zis!” In his despair, he broke into Spanish:  “Per dios mio!” Stupidity could go no farther!  What fools these youngsters were!

“I don’t mean to be ungrateful,” Gilbert explained.

There was silence for a moment.  Lopez strode up and down the room like an animal.  He was hot and disgusted.  What was the use, after all?  Why didn’t this young fellow, who had proved himself so brave and so worthy, show signs of the red blood in him?  No Mexican would have acted like this—­no Latin.  He would make him get his happiness, if he had to die in the attempt.  Suddenly a crafty look came into his eyes.  He came straight toward Gilbert and snapped his fingers in his face.