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Updated: June 27, 2025
"I have the honor to salute a hero, señor" he cried enthusiastically. "Your deed is of a most fine bravery. I, Manuel Pesquiera, say it. Have I the right in thinking him of the name of Mr. Richard Gordon?" Something that was almost disgust filmed the gray eyes of the young miner. He had the Anglo-Saxon horror of heroics.
He wants to be prince consort of the Valdés kingdom." "Because of ... the estate?" "Lord, no! He's one man from the ground up, M. Pesquiera is. In spite of the estates." "You mean that he ... loves Valencia Valdés?" "Sure he does. Manuel doesn't care much who gets the kingdom if he gets the princess." "Is she so ... pretty?" Dick stopped to consider this.
Crabb was beheaded, and his head carried in triumph to Pesquiera, preserved in a keg of Mescal, with the savage barbarity of the days of Herod. The contracts which would have compromised Pesquiera with the Mexican government were destroyed by fire. So ended the Crabb Expedition, one of the most ill-fated and melancholy of any in the bloody annals of Mexico.
He pointedly ignored Gordon, but sat with his hands in his pockets whistling softly a popular air. About a quarter of an hour later Pablo returned with a hot meal on a tray. Gordon, having done without food for two days, ate his ham and eggs and drank his coffee with an appetite given to few men. Meanwhile Pesquiera withdrew to the passage and laid down an ultimatum to the Mexicans.
Let him in and I will tell you all." For an instant Pablo suspected that his accomplice had sold him, but he dismissed the thought almost at once. He had known Sebastian all his life. He stepped aside and let Pesquiera come into the hall. The three men talked for a few minutes and then passed into the bedroom where the prisoner was confined.
The ruddy bloom that beat through the tanned cheeks and the elasticity of his tread hinted at an age not great, but there was no suggestion of immaturity in the cool steadiness of the gaze or in the quiet poise of the attitude. He indicated a chair, after relieving his visitor of hat and cane. Pesquiera glanced at the bandage round the head.
Until he had done one or the other Manuel could not live at peace with himself. He had put a powerful curb upon his desire to wait as long as he had. Circumstances had for a time taken the matter out of his hands, but the time had come when he meant to press his claims. The American might refuse the duel; he could not refrain from defending himself when Pesquiera attacked.
It occurred to Dick that there was a certain aloofness in Miss Underwood's attitude toward Valencia, a reticence that was not quite unfriendliness but retained the right of criticism. She held her judgment as it were in abeyance. While Miss Underwood was preparing some simple refreshments Gordon learned from her mother that Manuel Pesquiera had been formerly a frequent caller.
They must take horse at once and get back to the hills above the Rio Chama Valley. He would bring saddle horses from a stable so that they could start within the hour and travel all night. The Mexicans listened sullenly. But they knew that the matter was now out of their hands. Since the arrival of Pesquiera it had become manifestly impossible to hold their prisoner longer.
For hours Manuel Pesquiera had been rolling up the roof of the continent in an observation-car of the "Short Line." His train had wound in and out through a maze of bewildering scenery, and was at last dipping down into the basin of the famous gold camp. The alert black eyes of the young New Mexican wandered discontentedly over the raw ugliness of the camp.
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