the keeper of the tienda, who had appeared at his door in time to
witness the Danae-like shower, he bade him approach, in English.

"What sort of knives have you got?"

"Knives, Senor?"

"Yes; bowie-knives or dirks. Knives like that," he said, making an
imaginary downward stroke at the table before him.

The shopkeeper entered the tienda, and presently reappeared with
three or four dirks in red leather sheaths. Guest selected the
heaviest, and tried its point on the table.

"How much?"

"Tres pesos."

The young man threw him one of his gold pieces, and slipped the
knife and its sheath in his boot. When he had received his change
from the shopkeeper, he folded his arms and leaned back against the
wall in quiet indifference.

The simple act seemed to check aggressive, but not insinuating,
interference. In a few moments one of the men appeared at the
doorway.

"It is fine weather for the road, little comrade!"

Guest did not reply.