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Updated: May 9, 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.
"We heard that an American had been killed in camp to-day. We've been worried for fear it might have been you, Steve," said the camera man. "It was Harrison. He tried to sell Pasquale out to Farrugia and the old fox got his letter. Pasquale accused him of his treachery and had him assassinated on the spot. Better pull that sombrero lower over your face, Threewit.
Garcia Farrugia was the Federal governor of the province, the general with whom Pasquale had been fighting for a year. "No not Farrugia." The insurrecto chief, sprawling in the moonlight with his back against the table, nodded decisively. "I thought as much. He's no fool. Garcia knows it would not weaken me to lose both of them, that my grief would not be inconsolable. Who, then, if not Farrugia?"
"How much will you give for your life?" demanded the Mexican abruptly, sitting down on the stool with his back to the table. "As much as any man." The general eyed him narrowly. One sinewy brown hand caressed the butt of a revolver hanging at his hip. "Who paid you to murder Culvera and Mendoza not Farrugia, surely?" Pasquale shot at him, eyes gleaming under shaggy brows.
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.
It might be, too, that he would have darkness in his favor, though he could not count on this. By Enrique he had sent to Governor Farrugia a map of the camp, giving detailed information as to the number and position of the troops and showing from what direction the camp could best be attacked.
A little package shot four feet up into the air and was caught deftly by the barefoot trooper as it descended. The lips of Harrison barely moved. "Ride to-night, Enrique. Colonel Farrugia will also reward you well." "Si, señor," nodded Enrique, and went on his way. The face of the boy was toward the camp on the return journey. The American was still fast asleep.
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.
"Gold. How far would you go to earn that much?" "A long way, señor." Harrison caught him by the wrist with a grip that drove the blood back. "Listen, Cabenza. Would you go as far as the camp of Garcia Farrugia?" The close-gripped, salient jaw was thrust forward. Black eyes blazed from a set, snarling face.
He looked down at the lifeless body four soldiers were carrying away and turned to Pasquale for an explanation. The general handed him the papers that proved Harrison's guilt. "I have executed a traitor, captain. The dog would have sold us out to Farrugia. Is his punishment not just?" Holcomb looked the papers over and handed them back to his chief.
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