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The sheriff left him in silence and leading his horse went the few steps to the hotel. Ignacio Chavez appearing opportunely Norton gave his animal into the breed's custody; Ignacio, accustomed to doing odd jobs for el Señor Roderico Nortone, and to the occasional half dollars resulting from such transactions, led the big gray away while the sheriff entered the hotel.
Stretched upon a marble slab lay Leandro; his face was the color of wax, and his features bore an expression of proud defiance. At his side Senora Leandro stood wailing and vociferating; Senor Ignacio, with his son's hand clasped in his own, was weeping silently. At another table a group surrounded Milagros' corpse. The man in charge of the morgue ordered them all out.
He was the same one we noticed glaring at Clif; he had recognized him, and realized in a flash that the issue between them was death death for one or else death for the other. For Clif knew the man, and would secure him the instant he saw him; his crimes were many treason and attempted assassination the worst. For the man was Ignacio!
"It may be as you suppose, Fre Ignacio," observed the Grand Inquisitor to one of his assistants, who had made a remark to that effect. "But remember that it is our duty to seek diligently for all who may be opposed to our order and system, and to destroy them without compunction, with their wives and children, so that none of the viper's brood remains to sting us."
What were the feelings of poor Clif may be imagined; he was perfectly helpless and could only lie still and gaze into the eyes of his deadly foe. But there was some one else to stop Ignacio. The sergeant caught him by the arm. "So, no!" he cried. "Stop." "What!" panted Ignacio. "Why?" "They would punish me." "But they need not know?" "The others will tell." "Nonsense." "But they will." "What?
They went out of the door, and Ignacio, trembling all over with his fiendish eagerness, shut the great iron barrier and locked it. And then with a hoarse cry of rage he faced about. Clif Faraday was alone with his deadly and merciless foe! Ignacio was a horrible object to contemplate at that moment, and it was but little wonder that Clif turned sick and faint as he watched him.
On an average, the Presidency of the Republic of Mexico had changed hands once every eight months for the last ten years; and Don Ignacio Comonfort had stepped into the office in the previous December, on the nomination of his predecessor the mulatto general Alvarez, who had retired to the southern provinces with his army.
It would be Ignacio who would ring the bells for the wedding when Roderico Nortone married himself with the daughter of the banker. "He is what you call a gunman, isn't he?" asked the girl, interested. "I heard two of the men on the stage talking of him. They called him Roddy Norton; he is the one, isn't he?" Seguro; sure, he was the one. A gunman? Ignacio shrugged.
Senor Ignacio was a mild liberal, a man who swelled with enthusiasm over these words about the national sovereignty, and who spoke openly of the Glorious Revolution.
Quien sabe! The bells will ring." Through the silence of the outer night, as though actually Ignacio Chavez were prophesying, came billowing the slow beating of the deep mourning bell. Mrs. Engle sighed; Engle frowned; Virginia sat rigid, at once disturbed and oppressed. "How can you stand that terrible bell?" she cried softly. "I should think that it would drive you mad!
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