Clay gave a short laugh and turned to MacWilliams in the doorway.
``Hand me my gun, MacWilliams,'' he said, ``it's on the shelf to the right.''
MacWilliams stood still and shook his head.``Oh, let him alone,'' he said.``You've got him where you want him.''
``Give me the gun, I tell you,'' repeated Clay.``I'm not going to hurt him, I'm only going to show him how I can shoot.''
MacWilliams moved grudgingly across the porch and brought back the revolver and handed it to Clay.``Look out now,'' he said, ``it's loaded.''
At Clay's words the General had retreated hastily to his horse's head and had begun unbuckling the strap of his holster, and the orderly reached back into the boot for his carbine.Clay told him in Spanish to throw up his hands, and the man, with a frightened look at his officer, did as the revolver suggested.
Then Clay motioned with his empty hand for the other to desist.
``Don't do that,'' he said, ``I'm not going to hurt you; I'm only going to frighten you a little.''
He turned and looked at the student lamp inside, where it stood on the table in full view.Then he raised his revolver.He did not apparently hold it away from him by the butt, as other men do, but let it lie in the palm of his hand, into which it seemed to fit like the hand of a friend.His first shot broke the top of the glass chimney, the second shattered the green globe around it, the third put out the light, and the next drove the lamp crashing to the floor.There was a wild yell of terror from the back of the house, and the noise of a guitar falling down a flight of steps.``I have probably killed a very good cook,''
said Clay, ``as I should as certainly kill you, if I were to meet you.Langham,'' he continued, ``go tell that cook to come back.''
The General sprang into his saddle, and the altitude it gave him seemed to bring back some of the jauntiness he had lost.
``That was very pretty,'' he said; ``you have been a cowboy, so they tell me.It is quite evident by your manners.No matter, if we do not meet to-morrow it will be because I have more serious work to do.Two months from to-day there will be a new Government in Olancho and a new President, and the mines will have a new director.I have tried to be your friend, Mr.Clay.
See how you like me for an enemy.Goodnight, gentlemen.''
``Good-night,'' said MacWilliams, unmoved.``Please ask your man to close the gate after you.''
When the sound of the hoofs had died away the men still stood in an uncomfortable silence, with Clay twirling the revolver around his middle finger.``I'm sorry I had to make a gallery play of that sort,'' he said.``But it was the only way to make that sort of man understand.''
Langham sighed and shook his head ruefully.
``Well,'' he said, ``I thought all the trouble was over, but it looks to me as though it had just begun.So far as I can see they're going to give the governor a run for his money yet.''
Clay turned to MacWilliams.
``How many of Mendoza's soldiers have we in the mines, Mac?'' he asked.
``About fifteen hundred,'' MacWilliams answered.``But you ought to hear the way they talk of him.''
``They do, eh?'' said Clay, with a smile of satisfaction.
``That's good.`Six hundred slaves who hate their masters.'
What do they say about me?''
``Oh, they think you're all right.They know you got them their pay and all that.They'd do a lot for you.''
``Would they fight for me?'' asked Clay.
MacWilliams looked up and laughed uneasily.``I don't know,'' he said.``Why, old man? What do you mean to do?''
``Oh, I don't know,'' Clay answered.``I was just wondering whether I should like to be President of Olancho.''
