allowed to come on. Dismounting at the great door he greeted the silent
bystanders with cheery impudence, and begged to be taken up at once to the muy
valliente colonel.
    Señor Fuentes, on entering upon his functions of Géfé Politico, had turned
his diplomatic abilities to getting hold of the harbour as well as of the mine.
The man he pitched upon to negotiate with Sotillo was a Notary Public, whom the
revolution had found languishing in the common jail on a charge of forging
documents. Liberated by the mob along with the other victims of Blanco tyranny,
he had hastened to offer his services to the new Government.
    He set out determined to display much zeal and eloquence in trying to induce
Sotillo to come into town alone for a conference with Pedrito Montero. Nothing
was further from the colonel's intentions. The mere fleeting idea of trusting
himself into the famous Pedrito's hands had made him feel unwell several times.
It was out of the question - it was madness. And to put himself in open
hostility was madness, too. It would render impossible a systematic search for
that treasure, for that wealth of silver which he seemed to feel somewhere
about, to scent somewhere near.
    But where? Where? Heavens! Where? Oh! why had he allowed that doctor to go!
Imbecile that he was. But no! It was the only right course, he reflected
distractedly, while the messenger waited downstairs chat ting agreeably to the
officers. It was in that scoundrelly doctor's true interest to return with
positive information. But what if anything stopped him? A general prohibition to
leave the town, for instance! There would be patrols!
    The colonel, seizing his head in his hands, turned in his tracks as if
struck with vertigo. A flash of craven inspiration suggested to him an expedient
not unknown to European statesmen when they wish to delay a difficult
negotiation. Booted and spurred, he scrambled into the hammock with undignified
haste. His handsome face had turned yellow with the strain of weighty cares. The
ridge of his shapely nose had grown sharp; the audacious nostrils appeared mean
and pinched. The velvety, caressing glance of his fine eyes seemed dead, and
even decomposed; for these almond-shaped, languishing orbs had become
inappropriately bloodshot with much sinister sleeplessness. He addressed the
surprised envoy of Señor Fuentes in a deadened, exhausted voice. It came
pathetically feeble from under a pile of ponchos, which buried his elegant
person right up to the black moustaches, uncurled, pendant, in sign of bodily
prostration and mental incapacity. Fever, fever - a heavy fever had