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Updated: June 22, 2025
First thing, he'll pick on the wrong greaser and Mr. Messenger will take the letter to Pasquale instead of Farrugia. That's about what'll happen." Something else happened first, however, that distracted the attention of Mr. Yeager, alias Cabenza, from this regrettable possibility. A man rode into camp, followed by a Mexican leading a pack-horse.
Personally this Gringo was a devil, of course, but Pasquale was a prince of devils whose business it was to keep all lesser ones in order. So, in the Spanish equivalent of our American slang, they should worry. Thus a comrade explained the Texan and his presence to Pedro. Cabenza contrived to be in the way when someone was wanted to fill the water-jug of Holcomb.
"And you'd better keep your mouth shut unless you want your head beat off," advised the white man as he left. The one who had given his name as Cabenza grinned to himself. He was now Harrison's hired watcher. Both of them were in league to frustrate any deviltry on the part of Pasquale.
So, after all, the man was trafficking with the Federal governor all the time just as he was with the Constitutionalists. Yeager had once or twice suspected as much. "To the camp of Governor Farrugia," gasped Cabenza. "But what for, señor?" "To carry him a letter. Never mind what for. You will get your pay. Is it not enough?" "And Pasquale?" "Need never know.
A photograph of him in his rags, with his serape and his ventilated sombrero, face as brown as a berry, would be sufficient proof to exonerate Culvera of the charge of having shot an American. Steve had made up too well for the part. At worst Culvera could plead a regrettable mistake. "You make out a good case against Pedro Cabenza, general," admitted the condemned man evenly. "Good enough.
Yeager, alias Cabenza, returned to the stable where he and a score of patriots of the Northern Legion had sleeping-quarters. He would much have preferred to take his blankets out into the pure night air and to bed under the stars. But he was playing his part thoroughly. He could not afford to be nice or scrupulous, for fear of calling special attention to himself.
Until recently Ochampa had been a small farmer himself. He bargained shrewdly for the supplies, but in Cabenza he found a match. The man haggled to the last cent and then called on Heaven to witness that he had practically given away the goods for nothing. But when the sergeant led him away to enlist he was beaming at the bargain he had made.
The feet of Cabenza could be heard hitting the dust as he vanished around the corner of the house. Without beating around the bush Harrison came to his subject. He jerked a thumb over his right shoulder. "It's that girl up at the house there I want to talk about." "What about her?" "He's got no business keeping her there. She's a straight girl." "Is she?" "Yes, sir. She is."
In bringing Ruth to Noche Buena he had made a great mistake. "Do you want to make some money, you what's your name?" he presently rasped out. Yeager answered with the universal formula of the land. "Si, señor. And my name is Cabenza Pedro Cabenza." The prizefighter glanced warily around, then lowered his voice. "I mean a lot of money twenty dollars, maybe." "Gold?" asked the peon, wide-eyed.
"What are you doing here?" demanded a voice Steve recognized instantly as belonging to Harrison. The prisoner made no resistance. He ran into a patter of frightened, apologetic Spanish. "What's your name?" "Pedro Cabenza, señor," replied the owner of that name. "It is so hot in the stable. So I bring my blankets here and sleep." "Hmp!" Harrison took time for reflection. "Know where I put up?"
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