“How far from the Ramierez fonda were you when you were thrown?”

“A matter of four or five hundred yards, sir.”

“Then your accident might have been seen from the fonda?”

“Scarcely, sir.  For in that case, I may say, without vanity, that—­er—­the—­er senora would have come to my assistance.”

“But not her husband?”

The old-fashioned shirt-frill which the colonel habitually wore grew erectile with a swelling indignation, possibly half assumed to conceal a certain conscious satisfaction beneath.  “Mr. Grey,” he said, with pained severity, “as a personal friend of mine, and a representative of the press,—­a power which I respect,—­I overlook a disparaging reflection upon a lady, which I can only attribute to the levity of youth and thoughtlessness.  At the same time, sir,” he added, with illogical sequence, “if Ramierez felt aggrieved at my attentions, he knew where I could be found, sir, and that it was not my habit to decline giving gentlemen—­of any nationality—­satisfaction—­sir!—­personal satisfaction.”

He paused, and then added, with a singular blending of anxiety and a certain natural dignity, “I trust, sir, that nothing of this—­er—­kind will appear in your paper.”

“It was to keep it out by learning the truth from you, my dear colonel,” said the editor lightly, “that I called to-day.  Why, it was even suggested,” he added, with a laugh, “that you were half strangled by a lasso.”

To his surprise the colonel did not join in the laugh, but brought his hand to his loose cravat with an uneasy gesture and a somewhat disturbed face.

“I admit, sir,” he said, with a forced smile, “that I experienced a certain sensation of choking, and I may have mentioned it to Mr. Parmlee; but it was due, I believe, sir, to my cravat, which I always wear loosely, as you perceive, becoming twisted in my fall, and in rolling over.”

He extended his fat white hand to the editor, who shook it cordially, and then withdrew.  Nevertheless, although perfectly satisfied with his mission, and firmly resolved to prevent any further discussion on the subject, Mr. Grey’s curiosity was not wholly appeased.  What were the relations of the colonel with the Ramierez family?  From what he himself had said, the theory of the foreman as to the motives of the attack might have been possible, and the assault itself committed while the colonel was unconscious.

Mr. Grey, however, kept this to himself, briefly told his foreman that he found no reason to add to the account already in type, and dismissed the subject from his mind.  The colonel left the town the next day.

One morning a week afterward, the foreman entered the sanctum cautiously, and, closing the door of the composing-room behind him, stood for a moment before the editor with a singular combination of irresolution, shamefacedness, and humorous discomfiture in his face.

Answering the editor’s look of inquiry, he began slowly, “Mebbe ye remember when we was talkin’ last week o’ Colonel Starbottle’s accident, I sorter allowed that he knew all the time why he was attacked that way, only he wouldn’t tell.”