When they returned to the veranda Payne sat down on the steps. Jake
picked up his chair and looked at him thoughtfully.
"Now," he said, "I want to know why you have been prowling about the
shack at night. You had better begin at the beginning."
"Very well. I guess you know I was put off this camp soon before you
came?"
"I heard something about it," Jake admitted.
Payne grinned as if he appreciated his tact, and then resumed: "In the
settlement where I was raised, the old fellow who kept the store had a
cheat-ledger. When somebody traded stale eggs and garden-truck for good
groceries, and the storekeeper saw he couldn't make trouble about it
without losing a customer, he said nothing but scored it down against the
man. Sometimes he had to wait a long while, but sooner or later he
squared the account. Now that's my plan with Don Ramon Oliva."
"I see," said Jake. "What have you against him?"
"To begin with, he got me fired. It was a thing I took my chances of and
wouldn't have blamed him for; but I reckon now your father's cement
wasn't all he was after. He wanted a pull on me."
"Why?"
"I haven't got that quite clear, but I'm an American and could do things
he couldn't, without being suspected."
"Go on," said Jake, in a thoughtful tone.
"Well, for a clever man, he made a very poor defense when your partner
spotted his game; seemed to say if they reckoned he'd been stealing, he'd
let it go at that. Then, when he'd got me and found I wasn't the man he
wanted, he turned me down. Left me to live with breeds and niggers!"
"What do you mean by your not being the man he wanted?"
Payne smiled in a deprecatory way. "I allow that I was willing to make a
few dollars on the cement, but working against white men in a dago plot
is a different thing."
"Then there is a plot?"
"Well," said Payne quietly, "I don't know much about it, but something's
going on."
Jake lighted a cigarette while he pondered. He was not surprised that
Payne should talk to him with confidential familiarity, because the
situation warranted it, and the American workman is not, as a rule,
deferential to his employer. The fellow might be mistaken, but he
believed that Oliva had schemed to get him into his power and work upon
his wish for revenge. Jake could understand Oliva's error. Payne's moral
code was rudimentary, but he had some racial pride and would not act like
a treacherous renegade.
"I begin to see how your account against Oliva stands," he remarked. "But
is that the only entry in your book?"
"I guess not," Payne replied. "Mr. Brandon's name is there, but the entry
is against myself. It was a straight fight when he had me fired, and he
took me back when he found I was down and out."