Steve Yeager

by Raine, William MacLeod

  The Arizona congressional delegation was called into conference and an appointment made to meet the President of the United States. As soon as Lennox reached the city, he was hurried to the White House, where he told the story before the President and the Secretary of State.

  The case called for prompt action. Instructions were wired to Captain Girard, stationed with his company at Bisbee, Arizona, to act as a special envoy from the President to General Pasquale.

  Girard, with a corporal, two saddle-horses, and a pack-horse, entrained at once. Four hours later he was dropped at a tank station, from which point he and the corporal struck straight into the barren desert. The glare of the afternoon sun was slanting down upon them when they started. Their shadows grew longer as they rode. The sun, a ball of fire, dropped below the distant horizon edge and left a sky of wonder to drive a painter to despair.

  The gold and crimson and purple softened as the minutes passed. The distant ridges were no longer flamed with edgings of fire. A deep purple predominated and was lightened presently to a velvet violet haze. Then the stars came out, close and cold and innumerable.

  Still Girard rode, taking advantage of the cool breath of night. Toward morning he stopped at a sand-wash where three or four dusty cottonwoods relieved the vegetation of mesquite, palo verde, and cacti. Among the rocks a spring rose hesitant to the surface and struggled faintly for life against the palpitating heat and thirsty drought of the desert.

  The corporal hobbled the horses. The men stretched themselves in the sand and fell into deep sleep. It was noon when they awoke. They ate, lounged in such shade as the cottonwoods offered from the quivering heat, and waited till mid-afternoon. Having saddled and repacked, they struck again across the dreary roll of sandhills and washes. When Noche Buena lay at their feet the sun was low in the sky.

  Into the dusty main street of the village the two men rode at a walk. A sentinel with a rifle stopped them. Girard explained that he wanted to see Pasquale.

  "He is dead—shot by a Gringo who has gone to hell already. 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. A Gringo wants to see the general," he shouted to a barefoot trooper crouched in the shade of an adobe house.

  Girard explained to the officer that he was a messenger from the President of the United States. He and the corporal were searched and their arms removed.

  The Mexican officer apologized. "Since Pasquale was murdered, we take no chances," he explained. "You understand I do not at all doubt you are what you say. But we search all strangers to make sure."

  After Culvera had glanced over the credentials of Girard, he was all suavity. "I offer you a hundred welcomes; first for yourself, as an officer of the army of our sister Republic, and second as an envoy from your President, for whom I have a most profound respect. But not a word of your mission until we have dined. You will want first of all a bath after your long dusty trip. May I offer you my own quarters for the present till arrangements can be made?"

  Captain Girard bowed. "You are very kind, general. Believe me, I appreciate your courtesy. But first I must raise one point. I have been told that an American is to be executed at sunset, which is almost immediately. You will understand that as a representative of the United States it is necessary that I should investigate the facts."

  Swiftly Culvera considered. If the American officer had arrived an hour later, Yeager would have been safely out of the way. How had he discovered already that an American was to be shot? Was it worth while denying it? But what if Girard insisted on seeing the execution? What if he asked to see Yeager? Ramon's glance swept the obstinate face of the captain. He decided it better to acknowledge the truth.

  "It is to me a matter of profound regret," he sighed. "The man enlisted in our army as a spy, disguised as a peon. He is guilty of the murder of one of our men in a gambling-house. He attempted to kill General Pasquale a short time ago. He was undoubtedly in league with the man Holcomb, the assassin of our great general. He shot Major Ochampa, but fortunately the major is recovering. The man is a border ruffian of the worst stamp."

  "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 attem
pt 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 cigarette. 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?"