It was late dusk when, after certain sociable beverages, Mr. Baca bethought himself of supper and started homeward. As he swung along the sidewalk Mr. Jones was close behind. Mr. Baca took the first turn to the left: Mr. Jones took the first turn to the left. Mr. Baca cut across the Park: Mr. Jones also cut across the Park, now almost at his quarry’s heels. Mr. Baca wheeled. “Did you wish to speak with me?” Neighbor came forward, with an air of relief. “Why--er--not exactly; but I’d just as lief as not. And it’ll be easier for me, now it’s getting so dark. You see,” he said confidentially, “I’m shadowing you!” “You’re--what?” “Shadowing you. You seemed to have plenty of money; and I thought,” said Neighbor hopefully, “that I might catch you doing something wrong and blackmail you.” “Are you trying to break into jail?” demanded Baca sharply. “You are either intoxicated or mentally deficient. In either case----” “No, no,” said Neighbor soothingly. “I’m not drunk. I really need the money.” “Except that I doubt your sanity,” said the outraged lawyer, “I’d make you regret this bitterly. Do you know who I am?” “Sure! You’re Tavy Baca--Boss, Prosecuting Attorney and two-gun man. And please don’t talk that way about me,” Neighbor pleaded in an injured voice. “It makes me feel bad. You wouldn’t like it yourself. Don’t you know me? I’m not insane. I’m Jones--Neighbor Jones. I’ve been bucking the poker game at Beck’s. But there--you don’t know about the poker game, of course--you being Prosecuting Attorney and all.” “See here!” said Baca with a dull, ugly note, “if you’re looking for trouble you can get enough for a mess!” “Not trouble--money!” “I warn you now,” Baca advised. “Do not follow me another step. I’m going.” Jones burst into joyous laughter with so free and unfeigned a note that Baca turned again. “Come!” cried Jones. “I know what you think I’m going to say--that before I started I left a sealed envelope with a friend and told him if I didn’t come back by X o’clock to break the seal and be guided by the contents--that’s what you thought I’d say. But you’re wrong!” Unhesitatingly he took the few steps separating him from that silent, angry figure in the starlight. “Nobody knows what I’m up to but you and me and God, and you’re not right sure. So don’t waste any more breath on warnings. I’m warned--and you are!” Without a word Baca turned at right angles to his homeward course, and led the way swiftly up the dark and steep street to a dark and silent quarter of the Mexican suburb. Toward the street, these old adobe homes presented a blank wall; windows, and all doors save one, fronting on the inclosed _patio_.