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 be a greater miracle than any saint could perform."

"I believe you, capataz," said the doctor, dryly. lie went on to develop his view of Sotillo's dangerous influence upon the situation. And the capataz, listening as if in a dream, felt himself of as little account as the iiulistiiu t. motionless shape of the dead man whom he saw upright under the beam, with his air of listening also, disregarded, forgotten, like a terrible example of neglect.

"Is it for an unconsidered and foolish whim that they came to me, then?" he interrupted, suddenly. "Had I not done enough for them to be of some account, por Dios? Is it that the hombres finos—the gentlemen—need not think as long as there is a man of the people ready to risk his body and soul? Or, perhaps, we have no souls—like dogs."

"There was Decoud, too, with his plan," the doctor reminded him again.

"Si! And the rich man in San Francisco who had something to do with that treasure, too—what do I know? No! I have heard too many things. It seems to me that everything is permitted to the rich."

"I understand, capataz," the doctor began.

"What capataz?" broke in Nostromo, in a forcible but even voice. "The capataz is undone, destroyed. There is no capataz. Oh no! You will find the capataz no more."

"Come, this is childish," remonstrated the doctor; and the other calmed down suddenly.

"I have been indeed like a little child," he muttered. And as his eyes met again the shape of the murdered