scheme of yours, and my name
ain't John Benton, if they don't do it! More'n that, I'll promise you
a few more years to spend in wickedness, if you like. On one
condition."

Antonio's eyes almost leaped from his head in amaze at this
interruption and greater amazement at this astounding promise; and
John was swift to press his advantage:

"I'll save your life--on one condition!"

CHAPTER XX.

THE VERDICT

"Benton!" warned Ninian Sharp, aghast at the audacity of a man who
would trifle with the apparent death-hour of any man.

"Oh! that's all right. Come around and in with me. I never yet heard a
voice as lusty as that from a dying man, and I've been acquainted with
Senor Bernal some little spell. He's scared nigh to death--it's just
possible--but he ain't sick nor wounded to death, or I'm mistook. Come
in!"

Jessica met him at the door, and impulsively threw her arms about them
at her relief in their presence. She had not been afraid of anything
which could harm herself, but she had believed the man's own statement
that he was dying, and his suffering had been evidently intense at
times. She had been saddened and awe-stricken, and she now shared
Ninian's indignation at the carpenter's apparently heartless promise.
How was it possible for him to bestow life where death had set its
seal?

Nothing abashed by the reproachful looks cast upon him, John walked
straight to the bed and demanded, in the most ordinary tone:

"Where you hurt, neighbor?"

Antonio caught at the straw the ranchman seemed to extend, and feebly
pointed to the wound in his back.

What followed astonished Ninian far more than it did Jessica, who knew
the carpenter's ways. As tenderly, perhaps, because of his greater
strength, the old man lifted the injured one and critically examined
his wound; his face growing graver as he did so, yet not losing its
expression of confidence and decision. When the examination was over,
he replaced Antonio on the hard pillow, which had been Pedro's one
luxury, and quietly replied to the poor fellow's unspoken question,
burning in his great dark eyes:

"It's a bad job, my son. A mighty bad job, and a sneaky one. I've seen
such before in my time, and they didn't mean death. To some folks,
though, they meant what was worse."

Nobody would now have recognized the voice which uttered this dictum,
it had become so infinitely compassionate and gentle.

Antonio caught one meaning only: "I will not die?