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From his mesquite thicket Yeager kept up as rapid a fire as possible, using rifle and revolver alternately so as to deceive the enemy into believing the whole party was there. His object was merely to gain time for his escaping friends. Ochampa had been wounded as an object lesson, but he did not intend to kill any of those who were surrounding him.
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.
Ochampa, who for the moment had charge of the artillery officer, swooped down upon the peon and put him temporarily at the service of his guest to fetch and carry at his orders. So Pedro unpacked the belongings of the American officer and prepared what had to serve as the substitute for a bath. He was so adept at this that the captain privately decided to requisition him for his servant.
"Buy the chickens and the cabbage, Ochampa. Pay the man for his apples. Enlist him and find him a mount." He rode away, leaving his subordinate to deal with the details. Major Ochampa was the paymaster for the army as well as Secretary of the Treasury for the Government of which Pasquale was the chief. His name was on the very much-depreciated currency the insurgents had issued.
Steve was invited to take a hand, also Ramon Culvera and a fat, bald-headed Mexican of fifty named Ochampa. Culvera, playing in luck, won largely from his chief, who accepted his run of ill fortune grouchily. Pasquale had been a peon in his youth, an outlaw for twenty years, and a czar for three. He was as much the subject of his own unbridled passions as is a spoiled and tyrannous child.
"Boy, look to the glasses of these gentlemen." The deal was finished. Culvera opened the pot. The captain stayed. Ochampa hesitated. One shot, a second, and then a fusillade of them shattered the quiet. Pasquale flung down his cards and rose hurriedly, overturning his chair. "Mil diablos! What's to pay?" he cried. The others followed him out of the room and house.
"There shall be mescal to-morrow for the whole army to drink the health of the Liberator and his bride. See to it, Ochampa," he ordered as they walked away. "Viva Pasquale the Liberator," cried the sentries in a fine fervor of enthusiasm. Presently the man in hiding stole quietly to the road and advanced down it at a leisurely pace. "Promising them mescal, eh?" he murmured.
He was trying to spur Pasquale into such an uncontrollable anger that his death would be a swift and easy one. "Tie him hand and foot. Let a dozen men armed with rifles stay in the room with him till I return. Ochampa, I hold you responsible. If he escapes " "He won't escape," answered the major. "I'll see to that myself." "See that you do." Pasquale swung to the saddle and looked around.
"Everything fixed for to-night?" "Far as it can be. We've just got to take a big chance and trust to luck being with us," answered Steve. "Guess you'll have to make your own luck. I spoke to Pasquale about a game here to-night. He grabbed at the bait. Said he would bring Culvera and Ochampa. I'll make a long session of it so as to give you all the time you need."
In his letter he had urged immediate action, on the ground that a part of the men were absent with Major Ochampa on a foraging expedition. If Farrugia rose to the occasion, he hoped in the confusion of the assault to escape with Ruth. Meanwhile he waited, and the hours slipped away. It was now Friday noon, and the wedding was to be Saturday morning.
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