We will now go back to Dan Markel and Hockley, and see how the lank youth fared at the hands of the man from Baltimore.

The proposition of Markel to “paint the town red,” appealed to Hockley, but he looked glum when he heard the words.

“Yes, I’d like to go with you,” he said. “But I can’t.”

“Can’t? And why not, my dear boy?”

“I’ve got to stay around with the professor and the rest. We’re to visit a coffee plantation this afternoon.”

“Oh, that’s dead slow.”

“I know it is, and I don’t want to go, but I don’t see how I’m to get out of it.”

Dan Markel lit a fresh cigar and handed the box to his visitor. “We must think of some scheme,” he said, slowly. “Ah, I have it. Write a note saying that you have met some old friends and won’t be back.”

“But he’ll want to know about the friends to-morrow.”

“Will he? Then state they are about to sail—anything to smooth it over. He can’t expect you to tie fast to his coat-tails all the time, you know. You’re too big for that.”

“To be sure I’m too big,” blustered Hockley, lighting one of the cigars and making an attempt to enjoy it. “Let me have some paper and I’ll send the note.”

Paper was produced and also a pencil, and soon the note was finished and given to one of the boys outside to deliver. Of course the message was a complete falsehood, yet it did not appear to trouble Hockley’s conscience.

“Now what shall we do first?” asked the youth, after Markel had taken another drink from the bottle.

“When are the others going to start for that plantation?”

“They are starting about now,” answered Hockley, after consulting his watch.

“What time have you?”

“Half-past five.”

“Ain’t you slow?”

“I don’t think so. This watch is a first-class timepiece, and it ought to be, for it cost my dad a hundred and twenty-five dollars.”

“Is that so?” Dan Markel’s eyes glistened. “Mine is a poor thing alongside of that. It only cost twenty-five dollars.” He arose and stretched himself. “Let us go and have something to eat first, and then I’ll show you some sights worth seeing.”

They entered the dining room, and Markel ordered an elaborate repast with wine. It was a long time before it was served and then it was not nearly as good as what Hockley had had at the other hotel.

“Guess they’ve been changing cooks here,” observed Markel, when he saw that the youth did not relish the food. “Had splendid feed when I was here before. The very freshest of everything. I’ll have to find another place by to-morrow.”

“Come over to where we are,” suggested Hockley.

“Thanks, perhaps I will.”

It was dark by the time the repast was finished. Markel made a pretense of paying the bill but allowed his young friend to settle.

“Say, but you are pretty well fixed,” he said, as he eyed Hockley’s roll of bills. “I wish I could say as much for myself.”

“I’ve only got about a hundred dollars here,” answered the lank youth, carelessly. “But I can get the other when I want it.”

“Did you have to put it in the professor’s care?”

“No, he wanted it, but I told him I could take care of it. I left it in my valise.”

“But somebody may go through your valise.”

“I don’t think so. Besides, the money is under a false bottom in the valise. You can’t open it unless you touch a spring on the side.”

“I see. That’s a handy thing. Well, let us be going, or it will be time to return before we’ve seen anything at all.”

“I don’t care when I get back, Markel. I can tell the professor that my friends kept me all night.”

“Of course you can. Say, would you like to see a real out-and-out cock fight? There is going to be one to-night, in the rear of the Horn of Gold saloon. The hotel keeper was telling me about it. He put up five bolivars on one of the birds. All the best sports in town will be there.”

“All right, let’s go—unless there’s a bull fight on somewhere,” answered Hockley.

“No bull fight to-night, Hockley. But that cock fight will be a cooler, I can assure you. One of the birds belongs to a Spanish millionaire, and the other to one of the native generals in the army. We will strike some high-toned people at the fight sure.”

The prospect of going to a place where he would meet the “dead game” sports of Caracas pleased Hockley, and he already fancied how he would “blow” about the affair when he got back among his old cronies at home. “I’ll meet the bon-tons,” he said to himself. “It’s a good deal better than going to see a dried-up old coffee plantation.”

They were soon on the way, down one broad street and then into a side road which was little better than an alleyway. At the end of the road stood a ramshackle building dimly lit. Over the door hung a gilded horn of plenty, giving to the resort its name, Horn of Gold.

Entering the drinking room they found a crowd of thirty or forty assembled, of various nationalities, some black and some white, with two or three of Indian blood. At the rear a negro was strumming a guitar and another was singing at the top of his lungs, in order to make himself heard. But the clanking of glasses and the loud talking all but drowned out the music, if such it can be called.

To a youth of good habits the surroundings would have been disgusting to the last degree. But Hockley took them in as “part of the game,” and said nothing. Yet the thick tobacco smoke made him dizzy, and he dropped his own cigar when Markel was not looking.

Hockley was at a disadvantage, since he could not speak a word of the language. He listened attentively for some English, but none was spoken.

“Sit down here while I learn the particulars of this fight,” said the man from Baltimore, and motioned him to a seat in a corner, near the guitar player. Then Markel went off, not to re-appear for ten minutes.

“It’s all right—I’ve got two tickets, but I had to pay six bolivars for them,” said the man, on returning. “Come this way.”

They passed through a dark passageway and into a small enclosure without a roof. There were several rows of benches around a boarded-up ring in the center. Half a dozen smoky lamps lit up this fighting pit, as it was termed.

“One bird is called the King and the other Favorita,” said Markel. “The odds are on the King. I’m going to lay a few bolivars on him.”

“Do the same for me,” said Hockley and passed over some silver coins. He was so dizzy from smoking and drinking that he could scarcely remember what the coins were worth.

Markel made the bets, and soon the place began to fill with the sports who had come to see the fight. None of those who came in were the least bit “high-toned” in appearance, much to Hockley’s chagrin, nor did he behold a single military uniform, although he had expected to see a number.

“Must be an off night,” said Markel. “Here, have another cigar. I see you have finished the other.”

He insisted upon Hockley smoking, and by the time the cocks were brought in to fight the youth was so dizzy he could scarcely see. The place was filled with smoke, the crowd talked, laughed, cheered and hissed, and oaths were by no means lacking. In the midst of it all the birds fought until one was so badly wounded that it died shortly afterwards and the other was almost equally mutilated. And yet some people call such cruelty sport! It is not sport at all, simply an exhibition of brutality, the same as bull baiting and prize fighting.

“What did you say? Is it over?” asked Hockley, trying to rouse himself from a sudden sickening stupor into which he had fallen.

“Yes, it’s over and our bird wasn’t in it,” replied Markel. “What did you think of it?”

“I couldn’t see much, on account of the poor lights and the tobacco smoke.”

“Yes, the light was beastly. But it was a gamey fight, I can tell you that. Come on.”

“I didn’t see many of the fashionables,” was Hockley’s comment.

“No. I was told there is a ball on somewhere to-night and they must have gone there. Let us go into the saloon and have a drink.”

There was a crowd in the dark passageway and Hockley found himself pushed first to one side and then another. Markel was beside him, and the hands of the man from Baltimore went into first one pocket of the youth’s clothes and then another.

As soon as they had reached the drinking place Dan Markel insisted upon treating his companion liberally. Then he settled the score and went out to order a carriage to take them to the hotel.

In such a condition that he could scarcely walk, poor, deluded Hockley was assisted to the turnout and Markel climbed in beside him. It was now after midnight.

“Say!” cried Hockley, suddenly. “My watch is gone!”

“Your watch?” ejaculated the man from Baltimore, in well assumed surprise. “Are you certain?”

“Course I’m certain—it’s gone—best gold watch,” muttered Hockley, feeling into his various pockets with difficulty.

“Perhaps you dropped it in the carriage,” went on Markel, pretending to make a search. “It don’t seem to be here.”

“Some of those rascals at the cock fight robbed me,” groaned Hockley. He dove into his vest pockets. “Say! my money’s gone too!”

“You don’t say!” cried Markel. “That is bad and no mistake. You must have run afoul of a regular thief. Is there anybody you suspect?”

“Can’t say as there is. There was a nigger got pretty close to me just after the fight ended.”

“Then he must be the man. Shall we go back?”

“If he robbed me it ain’t likely he’s around now,” groaned Hockley. He gave a deep yawn. “Hang the luck anyway! Say, I feel awfully tired, I do.”

His eyes closed and although he tried to keep awake in a few minutes he was fast asleep. Dan Markel eyed him curiously.

“He was easier game than I thought of striking,” said the man from Baltimore to himself. “A gold watch and about a hundred dollars in cash. That’s not so bad. Wonder what I had best do with him?”

The carriage rolled on, and as it covered the distance to the Hotel Ziroda, Dan Markel revolved the situation in his mind. As the turnout came to a stop a peculiar light flashed in the rascal’s dark eyes.

“Might as well go the whole thing while I am at it,” he said to himself. “I won’t be able to hoodwink that professor as I have this young fellow. If I can get the rest of the money I can clear out, and they’ll never be able to find me.”

He and the carriage driver assisted Hockley to the ground, and then one of the hotel helpers came forward and helped Markel get the youth to the room which the man from Baltimore occupied. No questions were asked, for such occurrences were not uncommon among those who patronized the Hotel Ziroda.

“He will stay with me to-night,” said Markel. “I will foot the bill whatever it is.”

Laying Hockley on the bed, Markel allowed him to sleep there, while he himself took a nap in a chair by the window. The youth lay in a stupor, snoring loudly, and was still snoring when Markel roused up at six o’clock.

“My friend wishes you to send around to his hotel for his traveling bag,” said the man from Baltimore to the clerk in the office. “Here is his card. If Professor Strong is there, tell him that Mr. Hockley wishes to get a souvenir from the bag to give to his friend who is to sail to-day.”

A messenger was sent off, and while he was gone Dan Markel walked around anxiously. He was half afraid Professor Strong would accompany the messenger on the return, in which case it would perhaps be best for him to leave by a back way and without notice to anybody.

The messenger was gone fully half an hour, but when he returned he was alone, much to Markel’s relief. He had Hockley’s valise and turned it over to the man from Baltimore without question.

When Markel re-entered the bed chamber the poor fellow was stirring uneasily. But he did not awaken and the rascal easily obtained from his pocket the key to the traveling bag. Then the bag was opened and Markel began a search for the hidden spring.

At last it was found, and the false bottom flew up, revealing a pocket containing a flat pocketbook. Hastily opening the wallet Markel saw that it was filled with bank bills and gold to the amount of several hundred dollars.

“I’ve got it!” he muttered, his eyes glistening. He closed the bag, locked it, and placed the wallet in his own clothing. For a moment he hesitated, then kicked the bag under the bed and hurried to the door. As he passed out Hockley gave a long-drawn sigh, turned over and went to sleep again.

Once in the corridor, Dan Markel paused and looked around. Nobody was in sight, and watching his chance, he made his way to a side entrance of the hotel and from there into the street. Then he hurried on, down the square, and out of sight.

“I’ve got it,” he muttered.