They shuddered away from his gaze. There was a noise from the direction of the kitchen, and Alvarada, with the miserable little Mexican cook ahead of him, rushed in. He was addressing him in Spanish: "_Usted si cusinero. Borachi!_" Lopez gave one glance at the poor specimen who had charge of the kitchen. "The cook," he laughed. "He is dronk!" He now addressed him directly: "You are dronk," he affirmed, and stamped his foot. Frightened, the boy cried: "No! No!" Certainly he was under the influence of the deadly tequila; but when he saw the bandit's face, and realized that he was in his power, he became suddenly and miraculously sober. He was firmly convinced that his last moment on this earth had come. He knew that a man like Lopez never hesitated to shoot to kill. He realized in the twinkling of an eye how late it was, how the dinner had been delayed through his drunkenness; and this visitor would brook no further waiting. He fully expected to be shot against the door. Therefore, to save time, he slunk to the entrance of the kitchen, placed himself against the jamb, crossed himself, muttered a rapid, incoherent prayer in Spanish, put his hands behind his back, closed his eyes and waited for the fatal shot that would send him straight to hell. But nothing happened. Lopez looked at the cook, and said casually to Pedro: "Not till after dinner," and puffed his cigarette. "_Despues de la comida_," said Pedro. "I will make for you!" cried the wretched cook, opening his eyes, and so relieved to be still alive that he could scarcely articulate. "_Pronto_," ordered Lopez. "_Si, Madre di Dios!_" cried the cook; and fled to his kitchen, tumbling over himself in his eagerness to get a meal for the bandit. There was a pause. What would Lopez do next? Kill them all? In Spanish he began, turning to Lucia: "_Santa Maria_--You come here." Angela stepped forward. "You mean me?" she asked, sweetly. "No!" came the gruff voice of Lopez. "You!" pointing to the frightened Lucia. "Why do you want me?" she asked, moving slightly toward him. "I would look at you," the bandit replied. He was appraising her already. "Turn around." She obeyed, like an automaton, "'Ow old are you?" She would not lie. "Twenty-four," she answered. "Ees pretty old," laughed Lopez. "Let me see your teeth." "My teeth!" echoed Lucia. Did he take her for a horse? Lopez merely nodded; and, with all the self-control she could bring to her aid, she opened her mouth and showed her wonderful teeth. "_Si_," remarked Lopez, evidently pleased at the sight. "An' now, 'ow much weigh?" "I don't know exactly," Lucia said. "What's your name?" the bandit went on.