DON ABRAHAN had entered the courtyard as Don Felipe spoke. He was smoking his evening cigar, walking meditatively, yet with an eye to what had been put into the storehouse in the way of hides that day. Henderson approached him without formality, servility being the farthest thing from his bearing. Without preliminaries he placed his request for a settlement before Don Abrahan, respectfully, yet boldly, as a man confident in his rights.
"So you would leave me?" said Don Abrahan, after a little silence, looking slowly from his meditative pose. "Is gratitude so short in your memory?"
Henderson protested that ingratitude was a stranger to him; that he had labored to prove, by every hour of his employment there, that he was glad to bear the hardest burdens, labor the longest hours, out of no other consideration than gratitude for a favor past.
"I couldn't be more grateful to you than I am this moment, Don Abrahan. It isn't that I'm not appreciative of your help, only that I don't want to remain a laborer all my life. I want to take a look around this country and see if it holds any
