CHAPTER XIXYou will see the idea that popped into my head. You’ll see it just as quick as I did.
I says to the informer: “How many men has old Mauricio?”
“About twenty-two,” says he.
“And how many has Almadares?”
“Seventeen, now that I’m gone.”
“Eh? Seventeen keeping twenty-two bottled up?”
“You forget, señor. One of the seventeen is that Pablo Almadares, and he is the same as ten.”
Mind you, this wasn’t any Mexican getting enthusiastic about Almadares. It was a Yank, the same as you or me. And there was no doubt that he meant what he said. He simply rolled his eyes when he talked about his boss.
Well, altogether, counting the party of Almadares and the party of Mauricio, there was not more than forty men up there in the mountains. Counting Randal and myself, there was eleven of us
