But Hanson continued to gaze across the table at him.
"Read me my pedigree, ain't you?" he snarled. "All right. Now just let
me tell you something, Gallito. I take my answer from your daughter, and
from no one else. Understand?"
"No," returned Gallito, "I do not understand."
Hanson controlled himself with difficulty. For a moment it was on the
tip of his tongue to tell Gallito that the latter's connivance in the
escape of the notorious Crop-eared Jose was known to him; also, he was
perfectly cognizant of the present whereabouts of that much-desired
person, and that he, Hanson, had but to step to the telegraph office and
send a wire to Los Angeles, and not only Jose, but Gallito would be in
custody before night. An admirable method for securing Gallito's
consent to his daughter's acceptance of this professional engagement
which Hanson offered. But, carefully considered, it had its flaws, and
Hanson was not the man to overlook them. Indeed, he sat there in a
baffled and furious silence, going over them mentally and viewing them
from every possible angle.
In the first place, it was extremely doubtful if, after communicating
his knowledge to Gallito, he would ever be permitted to reach the
telegraph station, and, in the second place, he would, he was convinced,
have not only Gallito, but the, to him, more formidable Bob Flick to
deal with. Therefore, and most reluctantly, he decided to keep his
information and his threats to himself for the present and, certainly,
until he was better able to enforce the latter.
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