salutation, and was prepared to hail the new-comer as the jolliest
companion in the world.

Esteban Larralde, seeing the salutation, gave a short laugh, and
jerked the reins of his tired horse. He himself wore a weary look,
as if the fight he had in hand were an uphill one. He had long
recognised Conyngham; indeed the chase had been one of little
excitement, but rather an exercise of patience and dogged
perseverance. He raised his hat to indicate that the Englishman's
gay salutations were perceived, and pulled the wide brim well
forward again.

'He will change his attitude when it becomes apparent who I am,' he
muttered.

But Conyngham's first word would appear to suggest that Esteban
Larralde was a much less impressive person than he considered
himself.

'Why, it's the devout lover!' he cried. 'Senor Larralde, you
remember me, Algeciras, and your pink love letter--deuced fishy love
letter, that; nearly got me into a devil of a row, I can tell you.
How are you, eh?'

And the Englishman rode forward with a jolly laugh and his hand held
out. Larralde took it without enthusiasm. It was rather difficult
to pick a picturesque quarrel with such a person as this. Moreover,
the true conspirator never believes in another man's honesty.

'Who would have expected to meet you here?' went on Conyngham