"I reckon we can fix things if you'll help," Lewis announced.
"And that's just what I won't do," Ed impatiently declared. "Do
you think I'm going to be tangled up in a--murder? I've got
nothing against Don Ricardo."
"Who said anything about murder? Things ain't like they was when
your father owned Las Palmas; he done his share of killin', but
nowadays there's too dam' much law layin' around loose. All you've
got to do is give me about a thousand dollars."
"What for?" Ed asked, suspiciously.
"So's we can handle ourselves. It's up to you to do something,
ain't it?"
Austin demurred. "I haven't that much that I can lay hands on," he
said, sullenly. "I'm broke. And, anyhow, I don't see what good
it'll do."
"You better dig it up, somehow, just for your own sake."
The two men eyed each other for a moment; then Austin mumbled
something about his willingness to try, and left the room for a
second time. The money which Alaire kept on hand for current
expenses was locked in her safe, but he knew the combination.
It was with an air of resignation, with a childish, half-hearted
protest, that he counted out the desired amount into Lewis's hand,
salving his conscience with the statement: "I'm doing this to help
Adolfo out of his trouble, understand? I hope it'll enable you to
square things.
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