“It would be prudent to go soon,” Francisca remarked in a low voice.

“I do not see why.  I am no longer important enough for your friends to meddle with me.”

“You are very modest, senor, if you are not rather dull.  You have goods that would be useful to the new president, who has a rival he did not expect.  Don Felix Munez has turned traitor, and there are people who support him in the coast province.”

“Another president!” Kit exclaimed with a soft laugh, and then bowed to the girl.  “I think you mean well.  You have given me a useful hint and you have my thanks.  I will be rash and tell you that Galdar shall not have the goods I brought.”

Franciscans eyes got soft and a touch of color crept into her olive skin.

“One does not often meet a man who puts honor before money. Adios, senor! I wish you well.”

Then she turned to her companions, who presently left the table and soon afterwards Kit’s omelette was brought.  While he ate, Olsen came in and sitting down opposite, lighted a cigarette.

“You’ll allow that the Buccaneer backed the wrong man,” he said.  “I warned you and reckon your obstinacy has cost you something.”

“That is so,” Kit agreed.  “One must run risks in a business like this, but I don’t expect you to sympathize.”

Olsen smiled.  “I don’t pretend I’m not satisfied, but I can show you how to get some of your money back.  I’ve learned much about you and Askew since we had our last talk, and am willing to buy part of the Rio Negro’s cargo.”

“You seem to know she has arrived?”

“Oh, yes; I knew some hours since.  I’ve been looking out for you.”

“To whom do you mean to sell the goods?” Kit asked.

“Does that matter?”

“Yes; it’s rather important.”

“The important thing is you’ll get paid,” Olsen rejoined.

Kit frowned.  He imagined he could demand a high price, and now Alvarez was dead, there was perhaps no reason for refusing to bargain; but he did not mean to let Galdar have the goods.  He thought Adam would not have done so, and he held the new president, to some extent, accountable for Adam’s last illness.

“The cargo is not for sale,” he said.

“Oh, shucks!” Olsen exclaimed.  “I reckon you want to put up the price.”

“No,” said Kit, rather grimly, “I don’t want to sell.”

“Don’t be a fool.  The man you backed is dead.  You carried out your contract, and it doesn’t matter to him now who gets the truck.”

“That’s true,” Kit replied.  “But I won’t help his rival.”

Olsen looked hard at him and saw he was resolute.  “Oh, well!  If you’re determined, there’s no use in arguing!  You’re something of a curiosity; I haven’t met a man like you before.”

He went away and Kit ordered more wine, for he was thirsty after his long ride and had borne some strain.  He had to wait for the wine, but had expected this since the cafe was crowded, and in the meantime he got up and looked across the street.  Nobody had meddled with the mule, which stood quietly by the railings with drooping head.  Kit wondered where he could get it some food and if he could hire a fresh animal.