"You say just now we shall speak as business men. I say no, Don Marco; I
will not. I shall speak, we shall speak, as gentlemen."

"Go on," said Poindexter, who was beginning to be amused.

"I say just now I will not purchase the rancho from the Senora. And why?
Look you, Don Marco;" he reined in his horse, thrust his hand under his
serape, and drew out a folded document: "this is why."

With a smile, Poindexter took the paper from his hand and opened it. But
the smile faded from his lips as he read. With blazing eyes he spurred
his horse beside the Spaniard, almost unseating him, and said sternly,
"What does this mean?"

"What does it mean?" repeated Don Jose, with equally flashing eyes,
"I'll tell you. It means that your client, this man Spencer Tucker, is
a Judas, a traitor! It means that he gave Los Cuervos to his mistress
a year ago, and that she sold it to me--to me, you hear!--ME, Jose
Santierra, the day before she left! It means that the coyote of a
Spencer, the thief, who bought these lands of a thief, and gave them
to a thief, has tricked you all. Look," he said, rising in his saddle,
holding the paper like a baton, and defining with a sweep of his arm the
whole level plain, "all these lands were once mine, they are mine again
to-day. Do I want to purchase Los Cuervos? you ask, for you will speak
of the BUSINESS. Well, listen. I HAVE purchased Los Cuervos, and here is
the deed."

"But it has never been recorded," said Poindexter, with a carelessness
he was far from feeling.