by Unknown
"May I talk with him, general?"
"But certainly--if the man is still living," assented the Mexican.
The American officer looked straight at Ramon. His steady eyes made no accusation, mirrored no suspicion. Culvera could not tell what he was thinking. But he recognized resentfully a compulsion in them that he could not safely ignore.
"With your permission I should like to talk also with Miss Seymour and the two moving-picture men," said Captain Girard.
The Mexican adventurer announced a decision he had come to that very instant, one to which the inconvenient arrival of the envoy from the President of the United States had driven him.
"I am making arrangements to have them all three taken safely back to Arixico. Between you and me, captain, old Pasquale was something of a savage. It is my purpose to win and hold the friendship of the United States. I don't underestimate Pasquale. He was my friend and chief. He made a free Mexico possible. But he was primitive. He did not understand international relations. He treated the citizens of your great country according to his whims. That was a mistake. I shall so act as to win the approval of your great President."
"I am very glad to hear that. The surest foundation upon which you can build for a free Mexico is justice for all, general. And now, if I may see Yeager."
A messenger was sent to bring the prisoner. He found an officer with a firing party already crossing the plaza to the place of execution. The prisoner was bareheaded, ragged, unkempt. His arms were tied by the elbows behind his back. But the spirit of the unbeaten spoke in his eyes and trod in his limping step.
"The general wishes to see the prisoner," explained the messenger to the officer.
The party wheeled at a right angle, toward the headquarters of Culvera.
Steve thought he understood what this meant. Culvera had sent for him to gloat over him, to taunt him. The man wanted to hear him beg for his life. The teeth of the cowpuncher clenched tightly till the muscles of the jaw stood out like ropes. He would show this man that an American did not face a firing squad with a whine.
At sight of the captain of cavalry sitting beside Culvera the heart of Yeager leaped. The long arm of Uncle Sam had reached across the border in the person of this competent West Pointer. It meant salvation for Ruth, for his friends, possibly even for himself.
"Captain Girard wants to ask you a few questions," Culvera explained.
Without waiting for questions Yeager spoke. "Do you know that an American girl is held prisoner here, captain,--that Pasquale was driving her to a forced marriage when Holcomb shot him to save her?"
Girard turned toward the general, a question in his eyes.
Ramon shrugged his shoulders. "I told you Pasquale was a barbarian. The trouble is he was a peon. He took what he wanted."
"Her name is Ruth Seymour. She's a fine girl, captain. You'll save her, of course, and see that she gets home," continued Steve.
"I have the promise of General Culvera to see her and your friends safe to Arixico," replied Girard.
"You'll ride with them yourself all the way," urged the prisoner.
"No doubt. But, of course, the word of General Culvera--"
"--Is worth what it is worth," Yeager finished for him.
"The man stands in the shadow of death. Let him say what he likes," said the Mexican contemptuously to the officer beside him.
"You are charged with being a spy, Mr. Yeager. 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. 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. He came to my cell and offered me my life if I would knife Culvera in the back. I couldn't see the proposition. But I got a chance, knocked him down, tied him up, and slipped out in his serape. Then I made my getaway on the horse he had left for me in case I came through with the knifing."
Instantly Culvera knew the story to be true. It cannot be said that he was grateful to Yeager, but the edge of his resentment against him was dulled.
"Sounds like a plausible story, doesn't it?" he suggested ironically. "Why should Pasquale want the death of his friend, his lieutenant, the man who was closest to him among all his followers?"
"Send for Juan Garcia. He was on sentry duty that night. Ask him as to the facts," the cowpuncher proposed.
Girard turned to his host and spoke to him in a low voice. "General, this man has a good reputation at home. He has a host of friends in Arizona. I believe he is speaking the truth. Perhaps General Pasquale may have been too hasty. Let us send for all the witnesses and make a thorough investigation of the charges against him. I shall be called to Washington after I have wired my report. The President, no doubt, will question me. Make it possible for me to tell him that under the rule of General Culvera a régime begins that is founded on justice for all."
Culvera was far from a fool. He had lived in the United States and understood something of the temper of its people. The fall of Huerta was potent proof that no ruler could survive in Mexico if the Government at Washington was set in opposition to him. After all, the life of Yeager was only a small matter. Why not use him as a pawn in the game to win the approval of the big Republic to the north?
With his most engaging smile Ramon offered his hand to Captain Girard. "You are right. Pasquale was a child, a creature of moods, of foolish suspicions and tempestuous passions. Perhaps this man tells the truth. It may be he has been condemned unjustly. You and I, my friend, shall sit in judgment on him. If he be guilty, we shall condemn; if innocent, acquit. Meanwhile I will remand him to prison and order the execution postponed. Does that satisfy you, captain?"
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."
Steve nodded to the West Pointer. "Much obliged, captain."
CHAPTER XXVIII
AS LONG AS LIFE
Breakfast was served to Yeager next morning by a guard who either knew nothing or would tell nothing of what was going on in the camp. After he had eaten, nobody came near the prisoner for hours. Through the barred window he could see a sentry pacing up and down or squatting in the shade of the deserted building opposite. 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. It did not suit his temperament to sit cooped up in a prison while things were being done that affected the happiness of Ruth and his own life. He tried to persuade himself that all was going well, but as the fever of his anxiety mounted, he found himself limping up and down the short beat allowed him from wall to wall.
It was noon before he was taken from his cell. Steve counted it a good augury that a saddle horse was waiting for him to ride. Last night he had limped across the plaza on his wounded leg.
He and his little procession of guards cut straight across to headquarters. Culvera sat on the porch smoking a cigar
ette. He was dressed immaculately in a suit of white linen with a blue sash. His gold-trimmed sombrero was a work of art.
At sight of Yeager the Mexican general smiled blandly.
"Are you ready to take a long journey, Señor Yeager?" he asked.
The heart of the cowpuncher lost a beat, but he did not bat an eye. "What journey? The same one that Holcomb took?" he demanded bluntly.
Culvera showed a face of pained surprise. "Am I a barbarian? Do you think me another Pasquale? No, no, señor. You and I have had our disagreements. But they are past. To tell the truth, I always did like the way you see a thing through to a fighting finish. Now that I know you are not the ruffian I had been led to think you, it is a pleasure to me to tell you that you have been tried and acquitted. I offer regrets for the inconvenience to which you have been put. You will pardon, is it not so, and do me the honor to dine with me before you leave?"
The heels of the Mexican came together, he bowed, and offered a hand to the range-rider.
"Just one moment, general. All that listens fine to me, but--what are the conditions?"
Ramon made a gesture of regret at being so sadly misunderstood. "Conditions! There are none."
"None at all?"
"None. Is it that you think me a peddler instead of a gentleman?" The face of the young Mexican expressed sorrow rather than anger.
Still Steve doubted. "Let's understand each other, general. Are you telling me that I can walk out of that door, climb into a saddle, and keep going till I get back into old Arizona?"
"I tell you that--and more. You will be furnished an escort to see you safely across the line. You may choose your own guard if you doubt."
"And my friends?"
"They go, too, of course."
"All of them?"
The Mexican smiled. "You're the most suspicious man I ever knew. All of them, Señor Yeager."
"Including Miss Seymour?" The range-rider spoke quietly, but his eyes were like swords.
"Naturally she will not wish to stay here when her friends leave."
Steve leaned against the porch post with a deep breath of relaxation. "If I'm sleeping, don't let any one wake me, general," he implored, smiling for the first time.
"I confess your amazement surprises me," said Culvera suavely. "Did you think all Mexicans were like Pasquale? He was a great man, but he was a savage. Also, he was a child at statecraft. I used to warn him to coöperate with the United States if he wished to succeed. But he was ignorant and eaten up with egotism."
"You're right he was, general."
"A new policy is now in operation. In freeing you I ask only that you set me and my army right with your people. Let them understand that we stand for a free Mexico and for justice."
The hands of the two men gripped.
"I'll sure do my share, general."
"We're to have a little luncheon before you go. Captain Girard and your friends are to be my guests. You will join us; not so?"
"Gracias, general. Count me in."
The black eyes of the Mexican twinkled. "Your wound--does it greatly trouble you, señor?"
"Some. When I walk."
"Too bad. I was going to ask you to step upstairs and tell Señorita Seymour that General Culvera will be delighted to have her join us at luncheon. But, of course, since your leg troubles you--"
"It's a heap better already, general. You're giving me good medicine."
"Ah! I think you know the lady's room. But perhaps I had better call a peon."
The eyes of the cowpuncher were bright. "Now, don't you, general. Keep on talking and you're liable to spoil what you've said," answered Steve with his old gay laugh.
He hobbled out of the room and up the stairs.
The door of Ruth's room was open. She sat huddled in a chair looking straight before her. There were shadows under her young eyes that never should have been there. Her lissome figure had lost its gallantry, the fine poise that had given her a note of wild freedom. Steve had come up so quietly that she evidently had not heard, for she did not turn her weary head to see who it was.
He stood a moment, hesitating on the threshold. She sat without moving, a pathetic picture of despair and grief. A man had died for her yesterday. Another man was to die to-day because he had tried to save her. She herself was in danger still. The tragedy of life had carried her beyond tears.
When he moved forward a step she turned. Her lips parted in surprise. The dark eyes under her tumbled, blue-black hair stared in astonishment. Slowly she rose, never lifting her gaze from him. With a little cry of wonder she stretched her arms toward this man who had come to her as if from the dead.
In two strides he reached her and swept the girl into his arms. He kissed the tired eyes, the tousled hair, the soft cheeks into which the color began to flow. She clung to him, afraid to let him go, uncertain whether it was a reality.
At last she spoke. "It is you, isn't it? I thought ... they told me ... that you...."
He laughed softly with the joy of it all. "I'm free--free to go home with you, Ruth,--back to God's country, to friends and life and love."
"Are you going to take me, too?" she asked with naïve simplicity.
"Is it likely I'd go without you? Yes, we're all going. Culvera has seen the light. Soon all this will be like a nightmare from which we have escaped. That's right, honey. Cry if you want to. Little girl, little girl, how am I ever going to tell you how much I love you?"
She wept with gladness and relief while he held her tightly in his arms and promised to keep her against all harm as long as life lasted.
And afterward, when smiles came again, they fell into the inarticulate babblings that from the beginning of time have been the expression of lovers.
They forgot time, so that neither knew how long it had been before a denim-clad soldier stood saluting in the doorway.
Steve, over his shoulder, fired a question at the man. "What do you want?"
"The compliments of General Culvera, señor and señorita, and I was to remind you that luncheon has been waiting twenty minutes."
Steve and Ruth looked at each other and laughed. They went downstairs hand in hand.
THE END
* * *
Contents
THE HIGHGRADER
BY WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE
PRELUDE
A young idealist, ætat four, was selling stars to put in the sky. She had cut them with her own scissors out of red tissue paper, so that she was able to give a guarantee.
"But you'll have to get the ladder out of our bedroom to put 'em up wiv," she told purchasers honestly.
The child was a wild dark creature, slim and elfish, with a queer little smile that flashed sudden as an April sun.
It was evening, on the promenade deck of an ocean liner. The sea was like glass and the swell hardly perceptible. Land was in sight, a vague uneven line rising mist-like on the horizon. Before morning the Victorian would be running up the St. Lawrence. Even for the most squeamish the discomforts of the voyage lay behind. A pleasant good fellowship was in the air. In some it took the form of an idle contentment, a vague regret that ties newly formed must so soon be broken. In others it found an expression more buoyant. Merry voices of shuffleboard players drifted forward. Young couples paced the deck and leaned over the rail to watch the phosphorescent glow. The open windows of the smoking-room gave forth the tinkle of glasses and the low rattle of chips. All sounds blended into a mellow harmony.
"What's your price on a whole constellation with a lovers' moon thrown in?" inquired a young man lounging in a deck chair.
The vendor of stars looked at him in her direct serious fashion. "I fink I tan't sell you all 'at, but I'll make you a moon to go wiv the stars--not a weally twuly one, jus' a make-believe moon," she added in a whisper.
An irritated voice made itself heard. "Steward, have you seen that child anywhere? The naughty little brat has run away again--and I left her only a minute."
The dealer in celestial supplie
s came to earth.
"I'm goin' to be smacked," she announced with grave conviction.
An unvoiced conspiracy formed itself instantly in her behalf. A lady in a steamer chair gathered the child under the shelter of her rug. An eight-year-old youngster knotted his fists valiantly. The young man who had priced a constellation considered the chances of a cutting-out expedition.
