OU snake!”
Low-toned, but vibrant with anger and edged with contempt, the swift words cut like a knife through the chuckling complacency of the jefe civil. The grin vanished from his thick lips, and for a second he stood peering into the blazing eyes of Jean. The next instant he was dodging and ducking to retain his possession of the captured Colt. She had sprung at him like a fury, snatching for the revolver and at the same time beating his astonished face with a small but stinging fist.
Scrambling, stumbling, and awkwardly covering himself with his free hand, he wobbled about the place, managing somehow to keep his grip on the weapon until, by a clumsy stiff-armed shove, he sent her staggering back against the table. Thereupon he jabbed the gun inside his tight waistband at the back and stood ready to clutch her, if she renewed the attack. Seeing the futility of further exertion, however, she held her distance.
“Vâlgame Dios!” he panted. “It rains tiger-cats!”
A snicker ran through the cluster of tradesmen at the door. It roused the dignitary to realization of the fact that his dignity was tottering toward an ignominious fall. Gone was the heroic crown which he had just placed on his own head by the capture of the fearsome Tiger. Now the whole town would bubble with hilarity over the tale that Don Jaime Gordo had cavorted about his office like a dancing bear while a girl in pants punched his nose. Worse yet, the story would travel all along the river, and for years to come he might be known as “Oso” Gordo—Fat Bear.
Wherefore he put down his foot with vindictive force. On all and sundry he bent a baleful glare; on the censorious señorita, on the maliciously grinning merchants, on his own staring retainers and on Pablo Benito, who had made no move to interfere. And on all of them he loosed a savage roar.
“You, young woman, stand where you are! You will attack the Venezuelan government, will you? We shall see! You grinning apes—you braying burros who were so noisy before the coming of El Tigre and so dumb afterward—get back to your miserable shops! Or get home and squawk to your women to protect you! Ramon—Claudio—you offspring of Indian she-dogs, obey my command and dump this carrion into the cârcel! You, Pablo Benito, you traitorous friend of guapos, are under arrest! Move one step without my permission and I will execute you with your master's weapon!”
Pablo quaked. The peons hastily seized the prone American. The tradesmen lost their mirth in a trice. Only the girl dared answer.
“You will go to jail yourself, you blustering coward! This man is my escort, and as soon as General Perez hears of this thing—”
“Silence! General Perez will shoot him and reward me for my bravery. The passport he granted your party was never meant to protect an outlaw, an enemy of the republic. That order was for your crew of Bolívar—honest men—”
A scornful laugh cut him short.
“Honest men—who caused the death of my father and stole my money! Honest men like you, who strike from behind! Treacherous sneaks! If you and they are honest men I prefer the society of outlaws!”
Gordo stuttered with rage. The revolver half rose to an aim. Then it sank again, and he swallowed hard. The taunt had pierced even more deeply than the girl knew, for a reason of which she was unaware. The others in the room, cognizant of matters beyond her ken, looked at the furious chief and the revolver, then began hastily moving outward—all but Benito, who dared not move at all.
Borne by the peons, the long, limp form of Hart was hustled through the doorway and out toward the plaza and the waiting prison. The departing townsmen shuffled along beside him, not to scatter until they had seen the erstwhile terror securely locked behind thick walls and iron bars. One of them, though, halted and called:
“Don Jaime! What shall be done with the other armed man in the lancha?”
The chief blinked. He had temporarily forgotten that other man. A man large and ugly, with revolver and rifle! Most certainly, something must be done about that one. For the moment, however, he evaded the question.
“Let him sit and stew until I issue further orders,” he temporized. “And let no man talk with him. Any man who does so, I promise you, shall rot in jail until his bones fall apart. I shall attend to the stranger when I am ready. First I will eat dinner.”
Several chuckles sounded as the men proceeded. Don Jaime was a cool one, caramba! And he knew what he was about; no question of that. So they would leave matters in his hands, and most assuredly they would keep away from that ugly one in the launch.