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The sleek black head of Culvera swung quickly round till his black eyes met the blue ones of Yeager. He flung his hand straight out toward the Anglo-Saxon. "Mil diablos! What a dolt I am. It's the very man, and I've been racking my brain to think where I met him before." Yeager laughed hardily. "I've got a better memory, señor.
Harrison glared at him suspiciously. "You're so smooth I don't know whether I can believe you or not. You'd sell your own father out for the right price." "I pay my debts, señor both kinds," suggested the Mexican, unmoved at this outburst. "See that you do." "Be sure I shall, amigo," returned Culvera, looking straight at him from narrowed eyes that told nothing.
Yeager flung himself against the table and drove it against Culvera who reeled back against the wall and dropped his weapon.
He patted his fat paunch contentedly and handed the bottle to his companion. The second guard also drank deeply. Cabenza put an arm across the shoulders of each and drew their heads close while he whispered confidential scandal about Pasquale and Ramon Culvera. The two men listened greedily, eager for more.
Others among the officers had ambitions for leadership, but they knew now that Ramon had made the moment his and forestalled them. He had won the army over to him. He spoke briefly, but he took pains to see that no other speaker followed him. The plaudits for "General Culvera" rang like sweet music in his ears.
"Take the Gringo back to his prison," ordered Culvera. "The order stands, general? At sunset?" asked the man. "It stands," assented Ramon; and turned to Ochampa: "Have you agreed on a price for that bunch of cattle with the Flying D rustlers, major?" Spurred by Daisy Ellington, the star of the border Lunar Company had kept the wires hot with messages to "the old man" in New York.
Already scattered shots were being flung in his direction, but the dim light served him well. The last thing he saw before he vanished through the door was Culvera groping for his weapon. Yeager ducked into the night. From the door through which he had just come bullets spat aimlessly. He crouched as he ran, dodging in zigzag little rushes. Voices pursued him, fierce and threatening.
The fingers of Culvera drummed absently on the table. "I think the señorita and I will be able to adjust the matter without any help from you. If you have any last messages for her I'll be glad to carry them, since I expect to see her this evening." Steve had disdained to beg for himself, but now he begged for the girl he loved. "You're a man, Ramon Culvera.
At sight of the American the young Mexican at the head of the long table where Pasquale had held his councils showed a flash of fine teeth in a glittering smile. "Welcome, Señor Yeager. How is the wounded leg?" Steve nodded casually. "It's talking to me, general, but I reckon it's good enough to do all the walking I'll ask of it," he answered quietly. Culvera turned with a laugh to Ochampa.
Good enough. I've got you both where I want you now. You'll get plenty of hell, take my word for it." Threewit turned with dignity to the Mexican. "I have nothing to say to this man, Major Culvera. But you are a gentleman. We have been deceived. I ask for an escort as far as the border to see us safely back." Culvera was full of bland hospitality.
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