ALONG THE HIGHWAY The table was cleared save for three fresh cups newly filled by the Indian, one at the elbow of each man. Sergeant Cassara lurched across the room pulling at his belt, and the corporal and soldiers followed at a respectful distance, and slowly, trying not to show so much interest in the proceeding that there would be a rebuke from the ensign. The mule’s owner was chuckling to himself; the caballero sat at the other end of the table grim and determined. “I do not pretend to interest myself too much in the business of either of you gentlemen,” the ensign announced, “yet it seems to me a day or two at Santa Barbara would not be amiss. Within two days I can get an excellent horse and you two may take the remainder of your journey together.” “I must depart at the earliest possible moment,” the caballero replied. “And I also,” said the owner of the mule. “You are determined to play?” queried the ensign. “Then one, I suppose, will depart as soon as the game is over, and the other remain here until I can procure a good steed?” “That is the situation,” his guests agreed. “Riding the mule, you scarcely can reach another mission by fall of night.” “If I am successful in leaving on the mule, I’ll not stop until I reach the pueblo at Reina de Los Angeles,” the caballero said. “I’ll get food and drink where and how I can. My business is urgent.” “There may be more bandits.” “There are more bullets in my pistols and more thrusts in my sword-arm, _señor_. I dislike to appear a boaster, but I am inclined to believe I can care for myself.” He met the eyes of the mule’s owner, as if there was some special significance in the words, and for the moment the chuckling of the latter stopped. “And you, _señor_?” asked the ensign, turning toward the other end of the table. “My plans are similar to those of the caballero, officer. Let us play.” He began chuckling again; he seemed to be enjoying a rare joke that the others did not know. Very carefully he turned back the lace of his cuffs and pulled the sleeves of his jacket a few inches up his arms. His long, tapering fingers worked for a moment, then he clasped his hands and waited. The caballero turned back his cuffs also, and put his hands on the table before him. He never took his eyes from the other man; he was as calm, apparently, as when duelling with the sergeant. “Well?” the ensign asked. “What is the game? What are the stakes to be?” “Whatever the _señor_ considers the value of his mule,” the caballero said. “It seems that mules have risen in demand, and so in value, yet I will do the fair thing. I stake the beast, saddle and bridle, even my guitar, also the chance to be the one to proceed along the highway immediately. And do you, _señor_, put out your gold, piece by piece, until I have cried enough.”