"He says that he meant no harm," replied O'Rourke, "but that the desire to steal was like fever in his blood. He swears this by more saints than I know the name of. He says that he will give me the money that he got for the mule, and will toil for me until the day of his death, without a dollar of wages. But he has sworn all these things before, and every fit of repentance seems to make him more of a rogue. As for wages--why, his grub costs more than he is worth." "Just let me take him in hand," said Hemming. "You may try," assented O'Rourke. By this time, and knowing his master's easy nature, Nunez was feeling more at home. The attitude of the penitent was not natural to him. He freed one arm from the folds of his poncho and calmly extracted a cigarette from his sash. This he was about to light when Hemming's voice arrested him in the act. "Throw away that cigarette," came the order. The Cuban feigned ignorance of the English language. He raised his eyebrows, paused a second to smile insolently, and lit the frail roll of black tobacco with a flourish. He inhaled the first puff with very evident pleasure, and let it escape by way of his nostrils. But he did not draw the second, for Hemming's hand landed unexpectedly upon the side of his head. The cigarette flew at a tangent, unrolling as it hit the earthen floor. The Cuban span completely around, reeled for a second, and then sprang at the Englishman with drawn knife. O'Rourke and the half-breed Mexican cried a warning. They might have saved their breath for their next long walk, for Hemming, quick as a terrier in his movements, stepped to one side and delivered a remarkable blow with his fist. The Cuban--a flash of gay clothing and harmless knife-blade--went, backward, through the narrow doorway. "And now," said Hemming to O'Rourke, "what are we to do next?" "Do next?" repeated O'Rourke, sadly, "why, just sit and whistle for the fifty Mexican dollars, which the American consul paid John for our mule." Hemming hurried to the door and looked up and down the glaring street. Nunez was nowhere to be seen. "He's not lying around anywhere, shamming dead, is he?" inquired O'Rourke. "Don't see him," replied Hemming. "Then now is our chance to shake him for good," said the other, "and the only way I can think of is to put out to sea." As if he had made the most reasonable suggestion in the world, he paid their score and stepped into the street. Hemming followed to the water-front, too deep in wonder to offer objections, or demand explanations. CHAPTER VI. HEMMING HEARS OF THE VILLAIN Six days later, in a club in Kingston, Jamaica, Hemming ran across a naval officer whom he had met, years ago, at a county ball. "Hullo, left the army?" asked the sailor. "Verily," replied Hemming, who could not recall the other's name. "What--more money?" "Less." "Nice scandal in your old regiment. You're well out of it."