Going Some Part 21

"Exactly." Gla.s.s coughed thrice without result, stepped off the prayerrug, rolled it up tightly; then, hugging it beneath his arm, went on: "That four-eyed guy slipped me a whole lot of feed- box information. Why, he's a killer, Wally! And he's got a cash- register to tally his dead."

"Notches on his gun-handle, I suppose?"

"So many that it looks like his wife had used it to hang pictures with. I tell you, he's the most deceitful rummy I ever seen.

What's more, he's got the homicide habit, and the habit has got its eye on _me_." Gla.s.s was in deadly earnest, and his alarm contrasted so strongly with his former contemptuous att.i.tude toward the cowboys that Speed was constrained to laugh again.

"It's the most amusing thing I ever heard of."

"Yes," said the trainer, with elaborate sarcasm, "it would be awful funny if it wasn't on the square." He moistened his lip nervously.

"You alarm yourself unnecessarily. We'll hear from Culver soon, either by wire or in person. He's never failed me yet. But if I were you, Larry, I'd leave that Mexican girl alone."

"Mary?"

"Yes. Mariedetta. Now, there's something to be afraid of. If these cowboys are in love with her and have their eyes on you--"

"Oh, Willie ain't her steady, and he's the only one I'm leary of.

Mary's beau is that Egyptian with the funny clothes, and I can lick any guy with tight pants."

A gentle knock sounded at the door, at which Speed called:

"Come in!"

Senor Aurelio Maria Carara entered. He was smoking his customary corn-husk cigarette, but his dark eyes were grave and his silken mustachios were pointed to the fineness of a bristle.

CHAPTER X

"_Buenos dias, Senor._" Carara bowed politely to Speed.

"Good-morning again," said Wally.

Turning to the trainer, Carara eyed him from top to toe, removed his cigarette, and flipped the ashes daintily from it; then, smiling disdainfully, said:

"_Buenos dias, Senor Fat!_"

Gla.s.s started. "You talkin' to me?"

"Yes." Carara leaned languidly against the wall, took a match from his pocket, and dextrously struck it between the nails of his thumb and finger. He breathed his lungs full of smoke and exhaled it through his nose. "I would have spik to you biffore, but the Senor Fat is"--he shrugged his shoulders--"frighten' so bad he will not understan'. So--I come back."

"Who's scared?" said Gla.s.s, gruffly.

Carara turned his palm outward, in gentle apology.

"You been talk' a gret deal to my Senorita--to Mariedetta, eh?"

"Oh, the Cuban Queen!" Gla.s.s winked openly at Speed. "Sure! I slip her a laugh now and then."

"She is not _Cubana_, she is _Mexicana_," said Carara, politely.

"Well, what d'you think of that! I thought she was a Cuban."

Gla.s.s began to chuckle.

"Senor Fat," broke in the Mexican, sharply, while Larry winced at the distasteful appellation, "she is _my_ Senorita!"

"Is she? Well, I can't help it if she falls for me." The speaker cast an appreciative glance at his employer. "And you can cut out that 'Senor Fat,' because it don't go--" Then he gasped, for Carara slowly drew from inside his shirt a long, thin-bladed knife bearing marks of recent grinding, and his black eyes snapped. His face had become suddenly convulsed, while his voice rang with the tone of chilled metal. Gla.s.s retreated a step, a shudder ran through him, and his eyes riveted themselves upon the weapon with horrified intensity.

"Listen, Pig! If you spik to her again, I will cut you." The gaze of the Mexican pierced his victim. "I will not keel you, I will just--cut you!"

Speed, who had sat in open-mouthed amazement during the scene, pinched himself. Like Larry, he could not remove his gaze from the swarthy man. He pulled himself together with an effort, however, undertaking to divert the present trend of the conversation.

"W--where will you cut him?" he asked, pleasantly, more to make conversation than from any lingering question as to the precise location.

"Here." Carara turned the blade against himself, and traced a cross upon his front, whereupon the trainer gurgled and laid protecting hands upon his protruding abdomen. "You spik Spanish?"

"No." Gla.s.s shook his head.

"But you understan' w'at I try to say?"

"Yes--oh yes--I'm hep all right."

"And the Senor Fat will r-r-re-member?"

"Sure!" Gla.s.s sighed miserably, and tearing his eyes away from the glittering blade, rolled them toward his employer. "I don't want her! Mr. Speed knows I don't want her!"

Carara bowed. "And the Fat Senor will not spik wit' her again?"

"No!"

"_Gracias, Senor!_ I thank you!"

"You're welcome!" agreed the New Yorker, with repressed feeling.

"_Adios! Adios,_ Senor Speed!"

"Good-bye!" exclaimed the two in chorus.

Carara returned the knife to its hiding-place, swept the floor gracefully with his sombrero, then placing the spangled head- piece at an exact angle upon his raven locks, lounged out, his silver spurs tinkling in the silence.

Gla.s.s took a deep breath.

"He doesn't mean to kill you--just cut you," said Speed. "I got it," declared the other, fervently. Again he laid repressing hands upon his bulging front and looked down at it tenderly.

"They've all got it in for my pad, haven't they?"

"I told you to keep away from that girl."

"Humph!" Gla.s.s spoke with soulful conviction. "Take it from me, Bo, I'll walk around her as if she was a lake. Who'd ever think that chorus-man was a killer?"