pointed out to the Capataz that, to
begin with, he personally ran no great risk. As far as everybody knew he
was dead. It was an enormous advantage. He had only to keep out of sight
in the Casa Viola, where the old Garibaldino was known to be alone--with
his dead wife. The servants had all run away. No one would think of
searching for him there, or anywhere else on earth, for that matter.

"That would be very true," Nostromo spoke up, bitterly, "if I had not
met you."

For a time the doctor kept silent. "Do you mean to say that you think I
may give you away?" he asked in an unsteady voice. "Why? Why should I do
that?"

"What do I know? Why not? To gain a day perhaps. It would take Sotillo a
day to give me the estrapade, and try some other things perhaps, before
he puts a bullet through my heart--as he did to that poor wretch here.
Why not?"

The doctor swallowed with difficulty. His throat had gone dry in a
moment. It was not from indignation. The doctor, pathetically enough,
believed that he had forfeited the right to be indignant with any
one--for anything. It was simple dread. Had the fellow heard his story
by some chance? If so, there was an end of his usefulness in that
direction. The indispensable man escaped his influence, because of
that indelible blot which made him fit for dirty work. A feeling as of
sickness came upon the doctor. He would have given anything to know, but
he dared not clear up the point. The fanaticism of his devotion, fed on
the sense of his abasement, hardened his heart in sadness and scorn.

"Why not, indeed?" he reechoed, sardonically. "Then the safe thing for
you is to kill me on the spot. I would defend myself. But you may just
as well know I am going about unarmed."

"Por Dios!" said the Capataz, passionately. "You fine people are all
alike. All dangerous. All betrayers of the poor who are your dogs."

"You do not understand," began the doctor, slowly.

"I understand you all!" cried the other with a violent movement, as
shadowy to the doctor's eyes as the persistent immobility of the late
Senor Hirsch. "A poor man amongst you has got to look after himself. I
say that you do not care for those that serve you. Look at me! After all
these years, suddenly, here I find myself like one of these curs that
bark outside the walls--without a kennel or a dry bone for my teeth.
_Caramba!_" But he relented with a contemptuous fairness. "Of course," he
went on, quietly, "I do not suppose tha