"_Si, si_, Señor?" says Perez. "It is a great solvent." He stirred the red sugar in the bottom of his glass. "I have seen it dissolve many a good manhood--like that." "None of your friends, I hope?" sneers Sax. "I hope not." Saxton looked at him a minute; a hundred different fits showed in his eye, but the hurry of his mind let none stay long enough for action. The shadow settled on him again. I never in my life saw more misery in a human face, and to save me I couldn't tell you where the expression came from, because the man kept his muscles in an iron grip. There wasn't a droop of the mouth, nor a line in the forehead, nor a twitch of the eye--it was just powerful enough to make itself felt, without signs. He came back again with a snap. "Why, you're not drinking, Bill!" says he, noticing my glass. It was not Arthur Saxton, to urge a boy to drink. "No," I says, easy, "I'm not used to tropical beverages--I expect to find it full of red peppers. Lord, what a dose I got in my first _chile con carne_--" He cut into my attempt at a diversion. "Why don't you drink?" he asked. "Because I promised Mary not to." The mention of the name was too much. He took a quick breath. "Oh, I wouldn't mind that," he says, light enough on the outside, but beginning to heat up inside again. "I mind my word," I answered. Perez looked quickly across at me and smiled. "She makes mistakes like the rest of us," says Saxton. "She makes mistakes," says I, "but _not_ like the rest of us." Perez stretched out his hand. "I am again glad to have met Mr. Saunders," he said. Sax looked from one to the other of us. Suddenly he sprang up, giving the table such a push it landed on its back against the wall. "I hate to be the _only_ blackguard in the party," he said, and stood furious, panting. Perez slipped to me and whispered, "Mind him not--for two weeks, day and night, brandy, brandy, brandy--it has not drunken him--but the man is mad." "What are you whispering about?" demanded Sax, so savagely I got ready for action. "If you've anything to say about me, let me hear it--I yearn for interesting news." He had his fist drawn back as he came up to Perez. The little man's face went white. "Arthur," he said, "would you strike me?" "I'd strike any one--any dirty sneak who'd talk about me behind my back." "Arthur," said Perez, slowly, "when I was a poor, sickly, sad little boy at a Northern school I had a friend who protected me, who took many a blow for my sake; when I was a young man, sick with _la viruela_, I had a friend who risked his life to save mine; as an older man, I have a friend who can take my life if he wishes--strike." And so help me! He would have struck! Never tell me a man is this and that. A man is everything. In his right mind, nothing an Apache invented would have forced Arthur Saxton to do such a thing--no fear on earth, nor no profit on earth would have tempted him for an instant. But now he would have struck. I grabbed his wrist.