“Yes.  Her and Jose have joined out together since you shot Panfilo, and they’re framing something.”

“What, for instance?”

The fortune-teller hesitated.  “I only wish I knew,” he said, slowly.  “It looks to me like a killing.”

Dave nodded.  “Probably is.  Jose would like to get me, and of course the girl—­”

“Oh, they don’t aim to get you.  You ain’t the one they’re after.”

“No?  Who then?”

“I don’t know nothing definite.  In this business, you understand, a fellow has to put two and two together.  Sometimes I have to make one and two count four.  I have to tell more’n I’m told; I have to shoot my game on the wing, for nobody tells me any more’n they dast.  All the same, I’m sure Jose ain’t carving no epitaph for you.  From what I’ve dug out of Rosa, he’s acting for a third party—­somebody with pull and a lot of coin—­but who it is I don’t know.  Anyhow, he’s cooking trouble for the Austins, and I want to stand from under.”

Now that the speaker had dropped all pretense, he answered Dave’s questions without evasion and told what he knew.  It was not much, to Dave’s way of thinking, but it was enough to give cause for thought, and when the men finally parted it was with the understanding that Strange would promptly communicate any further intelligence on this subject that came his way.

On the following day Dave’s duties called him to Brownsville, where court was in session.  He had planned to leave by the morning train; but as he continued to meditate over Strange’s words he decided that, before going, he ought to advise Alaire of the fellow’s suspicions in order that she might discharge Jose Sanchez and in other ways protect herself against his possible spite.  Since the matter was one that could not well be talked over by telephone, Dave determined to go in person to Las Palmas that evening.  Truth to say, he was hungry to see Alaire.  By this time he had almost ceased to combat the feeling she aroused in him, and it was in obedience to an impulse far stronger than friendly anxiety that he hired a machine and, shortly after dark, took the river road.

The Fates are malicious jades.  They delight in playing ill-natured pranks upon us.  Not content with spinning and measuring and cutting the threads of our lives to suit themselves, they must also tangle the skein, causing us to cut capers to satisfy their whims.

At no time since meeting Alaire had Dave Law been more certain of his moral strength than on this evening; at no time had his grip upon himself seemed firmer.  Nor had Alaire the least reason to doubt her self-control.  Dave, to be sure, had appealed to her fancy and her interest; in fact, he so dominated her thoughts that the imaginary creature whom she called her dream-husband had gradually taken on his physical likeness.  But the idea that she was in any way enamoured of him had never entered her mind; that she could ever be tempted to yield to him, to be false to her ideals of wifehood, was inconceivable.  In such wise do the Fates amuse themselves.