Mr Whyte?
You're the procurador--and you, Mr Heart and Mr Stone? Help yourselves
to rum or brandy; and, Mr Bright and Irwin, take another cigar. They're
considerable tolerable the cigars--ain't they? That's brandy, Mr Whyte,
in the diamond bottle."

Mr Whyte had got up to give his opinion, as I thought, but I was
mistaken. He stepped to the sideboard, took up a bottle in one hand and
a glass in the other, every movement being performed with the greatest
deliberation.

"Well, squire," said he, "or rather _Alcalde_"----

After the word _Alcalde_, he filled the glass half full of rum.

"If it's as we've heard," added he, pouring about a spoonful of water on
the rum, "and Bob has killed the man"--he continued, throwing in some
lumps of sugar--"murdered him"--he went on, crushing the sugar with a
wooden stamp--"I rather calkilate"--here he raised the glass--"Bob ought
to be hung," he concluded, putting the tumbler to his mouth and emptying
it.

The jurors nodded in silence. Bob drew a deep breath, as if a load were
taken off his breast.

"Well," said the judge, who did not look over well pleased; "if you all
think so, and Bob is agreed, I calculate we must do as he wishes. I tell
you, though, I don't do it willingly. At any rate we must find the dead
man first, and examine Johnny. We owe that to ourselves and to Bob."

"Certainly," said the jury with one voice.

"You are a dreadful murderer, Bob a very considerable one," continued
the judge; "but I tell you to your face, and not to flatter you, there
is more good in your little finger than in Johnny's whole hide. And I'm
sorry for you, because, at the bottom, you are not a bad man, though
you've been led away by bad company and example. I calculate you might
still be reformed, and made very useful--more so, perhaps, than you
think. Your rifle's a capital good one."

At these last words the men all looked up, and threw a keen enquiring
glance at Bob.

"You might be of great service," continued the judge encouragingly, "to
the country and to your fellow-citizens. You're worth a dozen Mexicans
any day."

While the judge was speaking, Bob let his head fall on his breast, and
seemed reflecting. He now looked up.

"I understand, squire; I see what you're drivin' at. But I can't do
it--I can't wait so long. My life's a burthen and a sufferin' to me.
Wherever I go, by day or by night, he's always there, standin' before
me, and drivin' me under the Patriarch."

Ther