Manuel cast a single, terrified, supplicating glance, more suggestive than words, at his confederate, as Falkner shoved him before him from the room.  The next moment they were silently descending the stairs.

“May I go too, captain?” entreated Manuel.  “I swear to God—­”

“Shut the door!” The man obeyed.

“Now, then,” said Lee, with a broad, gratified smile, laying down his whip and pistol within reach, and comfortably settling the pillows behind his back, “we’ll have a quiet confab.  A sort of old-fashioned talk, eh?  You’re not looking well, Manuel.  You’re drinking too much again.  It spoils your complexion.”

“Let me go, captain,” pleaded the man, emboldened by the good-humored voice, but not near enough to notice a peculiar light in the speaker’s eye.

“You’ve only just come, Manuel; and at considerable trouble, too.  Well, what have you got to say?  What’s all this about?  What are you doing here?”

The captured man shuffled his feet nervously, and only uttered an uneasy laugh of coarse discomfiture.

“I see.  You’re bashful.  Well, I’ll help you along.  Come!  You knew that Hale was away and these women were here without a man to help them.  You thought you’d find some money here, and have your own way generally, eh?”

The tone of Lee’s voice inspired him to confidence; unfortunately, it inspired him with familiarity also.

“I reckoned I had the right to a little fun on my own account, cap.  I reckoned ez one gentleman in the profession wouldn’t interfere with another gentleman’s little game,” he continued coarsely.

“Stand up.”

“Wot for?”

“Up, I say!”

Manuel stood up and glanced at him.

“Utter a cry that might frighten these women, and by the living God they’ll rush in here only to find you lying dead on the floor of the house you’d have polluted.”

He grasped the whip and laid the lash of it heavily twice over the ruffian’s shoulders.  Writhing in suppressed agony, the man fell imploringly on his knees.

“Now, listen!” said Lee, softly twirling the whip in the air.  “I want to refresh your memory.  Did you ever learn, when you were with me—­before I was obliged to kick you out of gentlemen’s company—­to break into a private house?  Answer!”

“No,” stammered the wretch.

“Did you ever learn to rob a woman, a child, or any but a man, and that face to face?”

“No,” repeated Manuel.

“Did you ever learn from me to lay a finger upon a woman, old or young, in anger or kindness?”

“No.”

“Then, my poor Manuel, it’s as I feared; civilization has ruined you.  Farming and a simple, bucolic life have perverted your morals.  So you were running off with the stock and that mustang, when you got stuck in the snow; and the luminous idea of this little game struck you?  Eh?  That was another mistake, Manuel; I never allowed you to think when you were with me.”