"Carolina is right, Pablo. Somebody did make a big mistake. He was wounded in the hand, but not killed. I saw him to-day, Pablo, on the train." "You see Don Mike? You see heem with the eye?" "Yes. And he spoke to me with the tongue. He will arrive here in an hour." Pablo was on his knees before her, groping for her hand. Finding it, he carried it to his lips. Then, leaping to his feet with an alacrity that belied his years, he yelled: "Carolina! Come queeck, _Pronto_! _Aqui_, Carolina." "_Si, Pablo mio_." Carolina appeared in the doorway and was literally deluged with a stream of Spanish. She stood there, hands clasped on her tremendous bosom, staring unbelievingly at the bearer of these tidings of great joy, the while tears cascaded down her flat, homely face. With a snap of his fingers, Pablo dismissed her; then he darted into the house and emerged with his rifle. A cockerel, with the carelessness of youth, had selected for his roost the limb of an adjacent oak and was still gazing about him instead of secreting his head under his wing, as cockerels should at sunset. Pablo neatly shot his head off, seized the fluttering carcass, and started plucking out the feathers with neatness and despatch. "Don Mike, he's like _gallina con arroz espagnol_," he explained. "What you, call chick-een with rice Spanish," he interpreted. "Eet mus' not be that Don Mike come home and Carolina have not cook for heem the grub he like. _Carramba_!" "But he cannot possibly eat a chicken before--I mean, it's too soon. Don Mike will not eat that chicken before the animal-heat is out of it." "You don' know Don Mike, mees. Wen dat boy he's hongry, he don' speak so many questions." "But I've told our cook to save dinner for him."' "Your cook! _Senorita_, I don' like make fun for you, but I guess you don' know my wife Carolina, she have been cook for Don Miguel and Don Mike since long time before he's beeg like little kitten. Don Mike, he don' understand those gringo grub." "Listen, Pablo: There is no time to cook Don Mike a Spanish dinner. He must eat gringo grub to-night. Tell me, Pablo: Which room did Don Mike sleep in when he was home?" "The room in front the house--the beeg room with the beeg black bed. Carolina!" He threw the half-plucked chicken at the old cook, wiped his hands on his overalls, and started for the hacienda. "I go for make the bed for Don Mike," he explained, and started running. Kay followed breathlessly, but he reached the patio before her, scuttled along the porch with surprising speed, and darted into the room. Immediately the girl heard his voice raised angrily. "Hullo! What you been do in my boss's room? _Madre de Dios_! You theenk I let one Chinaman--no, one Jap--sleep in the bed of Don Victoriano Noriaga. No! _Vamos_!"