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Not only that; he was going to take from him the girl he was engaged to marry. "By God! I'll give him a run for it," the prizefighter announced savagely and suddenly. "For what?" asked Culvera maliciously. "My business," retorted Harrison harshly, reaching for his clothes. Half an hour later he was galloping toward the north.
The general flung himself into an excited group, tossing to right and left those who were in his way. He snapped out questions, gave orders, and stamped over the ground like a madman. Called by Culvera, he strode forward to one of the drugged guards.
And another Gringo will be shot when the sun falls below the hills, and perhaps another to-morrow. Who knows? You, too, may pay for the death of the Liberator," jeered the sentry. "Pasquale dead and shot by an American?" asked the captain in surprise. "As I have said. But General Culvera killed the dog in his tracks. Ho, Manuel! Call an officer.
No other sign of human life reached him. His nerves were keyed to a high tension. Culvera was an opportunist. Perhaps something had occurred to make him change his mind. Perhaps he had decided, after all, not to play for the approval of the United States. In revolutionary Mexico much can happen in a few hours. Steve was a man of action.
Given time, they might have organized an opposition. But Culvera drove them to instant decision. They faced the imperious will of a man who would stick at nothing to satisfy his ambition. Moreover, Ramon was popular. He was of a good family, democratic in manner, never arrogant on the surface to his equals. It had been his object to make friends against the possibility of just such a contingency.
"Fat chance you'll have, with Friend Harrison there to spot you, not to mention the old boy himself and Culvera." "It won't be Steve Yeager that joins. It will be a poor peon from the hills named Pedro or Juan or Pablo." "You're going to rig up as a Mexican?" "Some guesser, Lennox." "You can't put it over, not with your face looking like a pounded beefsteak.
He leaned forward, body tense and rigid. His prisoner understood that an offer for his life was being made him. But what kind of an offer? Just what was he to do? "Say it right out in plain United States talk, general. What is it you want me to do?" "Would you kill Ramon Culvera to save your own life?" After barely an instant's hesitation Steve answered. "Yep.
"He would have betrayed us all but for the patriotism of a messenger who would not be bribed. The man deserved death. Not so?" They shouted approval and added, "Viva Pasquale!" in an enthusiastic roar. Ramon Culvera, who had just arrived on the scene, led the cheering with much vigor. From every house men, boys, and women poured. The streets filled with noisy patriots.
A man don't play threes so strong as that." Culvera still smiled blandly, though his eyes were very watchful. "Me, I have what you call a hunch, Pheelip." Yeager took two steps forward. "You bet he did. Cold deck, kid. The other one is in his right-hand coat pocket." The suavity went out of Culvera's face as a light does from a blown candle.
His eyes were fastened steadily on the nimble brown fingers of the dealer. "Cards?" asked Culvera with an indolent lift of his eyebrows. Philip hesitated. He had the nine, ten, and jack of clubs, the queen of hearts, and the joker. This counted as a king-high straight. Steve, standing back and to one side of him, guessed the boy's dilemma.
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