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Lying in the middle of the room, bound hand and foot, with his furious face upturned to the moonlight, was Gabriel Pasquale. Culvera asked no foolish questions, wasted no time. Kneeling beside his superior officer, he cut the handkerchief that gagged him and the ropes that tied his limbs.
The American officer shook hands warmly. "General, it is a pleasure to meet a man like you. Mexico is fortunate in having such a son." Culvera beamed. "Gracias. And now, captain, first a bath, then dinner. Afterwards you shall talk with the moving-picture men." He turned affably to Yeager. "I shall give orders that you be given a good dinner to-night. To-morrow we shall pass judgment on you."
"We shall march to Mexico, down the usurper, and distribute the stolen wealth of him and his pampered minions among the people to whom it belongs. Every Mexican shall have a house, land, cattle. He shall be the slave of none. His children shall be fed. We shall have peace and plenty. I, Ramon Culvera, swear it. Mexico for the Mexicans." Culvera was an orator.
Culvera he did not trust at all out of his sight beyond the point where the interests of the young Mexican were parallel to his. In the whole camp he had no friend, not even the girl for whom he fought. As for Pasquale, Harrison had told the truth. He believed the general had doomed him. Unless he struck first, he was a lost man.
Both Harrison and Culvera had already condemned him to death. He turned quietly to the insurgent leader. "How about it, general? Do I get a pass to Kingdom Come because I stood by a half-grown kid when two blacklegs were robbing him?" "You shot Mendoza, eh?" demanded Pasquale, his heavy brows knit in a frown. "No; I helped the boy escape who did."
But back of his debonair gayety Steve nursed a growing unease. He was no longer dressed in the outfit of a cowpuncher, but wore a gray street suit and a Panama straw hat. Culvera had caught only a momentary glance at him the night they had faced each other revolver in hand. Yet the American was morally convinced that given time recognition would flash upon the young Mexican.
I am told you were captured in disguise after having plotted to help prisoners escape," said Girard. Yeager nodded quietly. "Technically I am a spy. I came here to try to save Miss Seymour and my friends. The attempt failed and I was captured." "Are you a spy in the sense that you were in the employ of the enemies of General Pasquale and his armies?" "No. Culvera understands that perfectly well.
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.
This done, he sauntered back to the little town and down the adobe street. A horseman cantered up to the headquarters of the general just as Pasquale stepped out with Culvera. The latter snapped his fingers toward Cabenza and that trooper ran forward. "Hold the horse," ordered the officer in Mexican. Cabenza relieved the messenger, who stepped forward and delivered what had been given him to say.
I came only to look out for my friends." Girard knew what manner of man Yeager was. He intended to save his life if it could be done. This would be possible only if Culvera could be made to feel that it would cost too much to punish him. "It is claimed that you attempted the life of General Pasquale once." "Nothing to that. I was a prisoner, condemned to be shot in the morning.
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