CHAPTER X
A NIGHT VISIT
Harrison stood blinking in the doorway, having just come out from theuntempered sunlight in the street. He shook hands with the general, withCulvera, and then his glance fell upon the American.
"Fine glad day, ain't it?" Yeager opened gayly. "Great the way friendsmeet in this little old world."
"What are you doing here?" demanded the prizefighter, his chin juttingforward and down.
"Me! I'm losing my wad at stud. Want to stake me?"
Harrison turned to Pasquale. "Know who he is? Know anything about him,general?"
"Only what he has told me, senor."
"And that is?"
"That he worked for the moving-picture company at Los Robles, that he isout of a job, and that he wants to try the revolutionary game, as youAmericans say."
"Don't you believe it. Don't believe a word of it," broke out Harrisonstormily. "He's a spy. That's what he is."
Smiling, Steve cut in. "What have I come to spy about, Harrison?"
"You told Threewit that you thought General Pasquale had those cattle.You may deny it, but--"
"Why _should_ I deny it?" Yeager turned genially to the insurgent chief."_You_ don't deny it, do you, general?"
Pasquale laughed. He liked the cheek of this young man. "I deny nothingand I admit nothing." He swept his hand around in a gesture ofindifference. "My vaqueros herd cattle I have bought. Possibly rustlerssold them to me. Maybeso. I ask no questions."
"Nor I," added Yeager promptly. "At least, not many. I eat the beef andfind it good. You ought to have got a good price for a nice fat bunchlike that, Harrison."
"What d'you mean by that?" The man's fists were clenched. The rage wasmounting in him.
"Forget it, Harrison! You've quit the company. You're across the lineand among friends. No use keeping up the bluff. I know who held me up.If I'm not hos-tile about it, you don't need to be."
The prizefighter flung at him the word of insult that no man in thefighting West brooks. Before Steve could speak or move, Pasqualehammered the table with his heavy, hairy fist.
"Maldito!" he roared. "Is it so you talk to my friends in my own house,Senor Harrison?"
The rustler, furious, turned on him. But even in his rage he knew betterthan to let his passion go. The insurgent chief was more dangerous thandynamite in a fire. Purple with anger, Harrison choked back the volcaniceruption.
"Friend! I tell you he's a spy, general. This man killed Mendoza. He'shere to sell you out."
The sleek black head of Culvera swung quickly round till his black eyesmet the blue ones of Yeager. He flung his hand straight out toward theAnglo-Saxon.
"Mil diablos! What a dolt I am. It's the very man, and I've been rackingmy brain to think where I met him before."
Yeager laughed hardily. "I've got a better memory, senor. Knew you themoment I set eyes on you, though it was some smoky when we last met."
Culvera rose, his knuckles pressing against the table. There was a faintsmile of triumph, on his masked, immobile face.
"Farewell, Senor Yeager," he said softly. "After all, it's a world fullof hardship and unpleasantness. You're well rid of it."
Steve knew his sole appeal lay in Pasquale. Ochampo was a nonentity.Both Harrison and Culvera had already condemned him to death. He turnedquietly to the insurgent leader.
"How about it, general? Do I get a pass to Kingdom Come--because I stoodby a half-grown kid when two blacklegs were robbing him?"
"You shot Mendoza, eh?" demanded Pasquale, his heavy brows knit in afrown.
"No; I helped the boy escape who did."
"You were both employed by the enemy to murder him and Culvera--not so?"
"Nothing of the sort. Young Seymour was in a poker game with Culvera andMendoza. They were cross-lifting him--and playing with a cold deck atthat. I warned the kid. They began shooting. I could have killed eitherof them, but I blew out the lights instead. In self-defense the boy shotMendoza. We escaped through the door. The trouble was none of ourseeking."
Culvera shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands in a gesture ofbland denial. "Lies! All lies, general. Have I not already told you thetruth?"
Coldly Pasquale pronounced judgment. "What matter which one shotMendoza. Both were firing. Both escaped together. Both are equallyguilty." He clapped his hands. A trooper entered. "'Tonio, get a guardand take this man to prison. See that he is kept safe. To-morrow at dawnhe will be shot."
The trooper withdrew. Pasquale continued evenly. "We have one rule,Senor Yeager. He who kills one of us is our enemy. If we capture him,that man dies. Fate has shaken the dice and they fall against you. So beit. You pay forfeit."
Yeager nodded. He wasted no breath in useless protest against thedecision of this man of iron. What must be, must. A plea for mercy orfor a reversal of judgment would be mere weakness.
"If that's the way you play the game there's no use hollering. I'll takemy medicine, because I must. But I'll just take one little flyer of aguess at the future, general. If you don't put friend Culvera out ofbusiness, it will presently be, 'Good-night, Pasquale.' He's a rightanxious and ambitious little lieutenant, I shouldn't wonder."
Harrison triumphed openly. He followed out of the house the file ofsoldiers who took his enemy away.
"Told you I'd git even a-plenty, didn't I?" he jeered. "Told you I'dmake you sweat blood, Mister Yeager. Good enough. You'll see me in a boxright off the stage to-morrow morning when the execution set is pulledoff. Adios, my friend!"
The cowpuncher was thrust into a one-room, flat-roofed adobe hut. Thedoor was locked and a guard set outside. The prison had for furniture athree-legged stool and a rough, home-made table. In one corner lay acouple of blankets upon some straw to serve for a bed. The walls of thehouse, probably a hundred years old at least, were of plain, unplasteredadobe. The fireplace was large, but one glance up the narrow chimneyproved the futility of any hope of escape in that direction.
He was caught, like a rat in a trap. Yet somehow he did not feel as ifit could be true that he was to be taken out at daybreak and shot. Itmust be some ridiculous joke Fate was playing on him. Something wouldturn up yet to save him.
But as the hours wore away the grim reality of his position came nearerhome to him. He had only a few hours left. From his pocket he took anotebook and a pencil. It was possible that Pasquale would let him senda letter through to Threewit if it gave some natural explanation of hisdeath, one that would relieve him of any responsibility. Steve tore outa page and wrote, standing under the little shaft of moonlight thatpoured through the small barred window:--
Fifteen minutes ago [so he wrote] I accidentally shot myself while target-practicing here in camp. They say I won't live more than a few hours. By the courtesy of General Pasquale I am getting a letter through to you, which is to be sent after my death. Give bearer ten dollars in gold.
Say good-bye for me to Frank, Daisy, and the rest. _Bust up that marriage if you can_.
Adios, my friend. STEVE YEAGER.
He was searching in his pocket for an envelope when there came a soundthat held him rigid. Some one was very carefully unlocking the door ofhis prison from the outside. Stealthily he drew back into the deepshadow at the farther end of the room, picking up noiselessly by one legthe stool by the table. It was possible that some one had been sent tomurder him.
The grinding of the key ceased. Slowly the door opened inch by inch. Aman's head was thrust through the opening. After a long time of silencea figure followed the head and the door was closed again.
"You may put down that weapon, Senor Yeager. I have not come to knifeyou."
The lower half of the man's face was covered by a fold of his serape,the upper part was shaded by his sombrero. Only the glittering eyescould be plainly seen.
"Why have you come?"
"To talk with you--perhaps to save you. Quien sabe?"
Yeager put down th
e stool and gave it a shove across the floor. "Willyou take a seat, general? Sorry I can't offer you refreshments, but thetruth is I'm not exactly master in my own house."
Pasquale dropped the serape from his face and moved forward. "So youknew me?"
"Yes."
"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 buttof 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.
Garcia Farrugia was the Federal governor of the province, the generalwith whom Pasquale had been fighting for a year.
"No--not Farrugia."
The insurrecto chief, sprawling in the moonlight with his back againstthe table, nodded decisively.
"I thought as much. He's no fool. Garcia knows it would not weaken meto lose both of them, that my grief would not be inconsolable. Who,then, if not Farrugia?"
"Nobody. I'm not an assassin. The story I told you is the truth,general."
"If that is true, Ramon Culvera's lies have brought you to your death."
The Mexican still sprawled with an arm flung across the table. Not amuscle of his lax body had grown more taut. But the eyes of the man--theterrible eyes that condemned men to their graves without a flicker ofruth--were fixed on the range-rider with a steady compulsion filled withhidden significance.
"Yes." Steve waited, alert and watchful. Presently he would understandwhat this grim, virile old scoundrel was driving at.
"You fought him in the open. You played your cards above the table. Hecomes back at you with a cold deck. Senor, do you love Ramon like abrother?"
"Of course not. If I could get at him before--"
The rigor of the black eyes boring into those of Yeager did not relax.The impact of them was like steel grinding on steel.
"Yes? If you could get at him? What, then, senor?"
The words were hissed across the room at the American. Pasquale was nolonger lounging. He leaned forward, body tense and rigid. His prisonerunderstood that an offer for his life was being made him. But what kindof an offer? Just what was he to do?
"Say it right out in plain United States talk, general. What is it youwant me to do?"
"Would you kill Ramon Culvera--to save your own life?"
After barely an instant's hesitation Steve answered. "Yep. I'll fighthim to a finish--any time, any place."
"Bueno! But there will be no risk for you. He will be summoned from hishouse to-night. You will stand in the darkness outside. One thrust ofthe knife and--you will be avenged. A saddled horse is waiting for younow in the cottonwood grove opposite. Before we get the pursuit startedyou will be lost in the darkness miles away."
The heart of Yeager sank. The thing he was being asked to do was plainmurder. Even to save his own life he could not set his hand to such acontract.
"I can't do that, general. But I'll pick a quarrel with him. I'll take achance on even terms."
"No--no!" Pasquale's voice was harsh and imperative. "The dog isplotting my murder. But first he wants to make sure he is strong enoughto succeed me. So he waits. But I--Gabriel Pasquale--I wait for noman's knife. I strike first--and sure. You execute the traitor and saveyour own life which is forfeit. Caramba! Are you afraid?"
"Not afraid, but--"
"You walk out of that door a free man. You give the password forto-night. It is 'Gabriel.' You settle with the traitor and then rideaway to safety. Maldito! Why hesitate?"
"Because I'm a white man, general. We don't kill in the dark and runaway. When I offer to fight him to a finish I go the limit--and thensome. For I don't hate Culvera that bad. But I think a heap of SteveYeager's life, so I'll stand pat on my proposition."
"Am I a fool, senor?" asked the Mexican harshly. "How do I know youwould keep faith, that you would not ride away--what you call laugh inyour sleeve at me? No! You will strike under my own eye--with myrevolver at your heart. Then I make sure."
"I'll bet you'd make sure. You'd shoot me down and explain it all finewhen your men came running. 'The Gringo dog escaped and killed my dearfriend Ramon, but by good luck I shot him before he made his getaway.'Nothing doing."
"Then you refuse?" Pasquale's narrowed eyes glittered in the moonshine.
"You're right I do."
The Mexican rose. "Die like a dog, then, you pigheaded Gringo."
"Just a moment, general. I've got a letter here I wish you'd send northfor me. It explains that I shot myself accidentally--lets you out finein case Uncle Sam begins to ask inconvenient whys about mydisappearance."
"And why so much care to save me trouble?" inquired the insurgent leadersuspiciously.
"I have to put that in to get you to forward the letter, I reckon. WhatI want is that my friends should know I'm dead."
As a soldier Pasquale could understand that desire. He hesitated. Thesudden death of Americans had of late stirred a good deal of resentmentacross the line. Why not take the alibi Yeager so conveniently offeredhim?
"Let's see your letter. But remember I promise nothing," said theMexican roughly.
Steve moved forward and gave it to him. His heart was pounding againsthis ribs as does that of a frightened rabbit in the hand. If Pasqualelooked at the letter now he had a chance. If he put it in his pocket thechance vanished.
The rebel chief glanced at the sheet of paper, opened it, and steppedback into the moonlight. For just an instant his eyes left Yeager andfell upon the paper. That moment belonged to Steve. Like a tiger heleaped for the hairy throat of the man.
Pasquale, with a half-articulate cry, stumbled back. But the Americanwas on top of him, his strong, brown fingers were tightening on thesinewy throat. They went down together, the Mexican underneath. As hefell, the head of the general struck the edge of the table. The steelgrip of Steve's hand did not relax, for a single sharp cry would meandeath to him.
Just once Pasquale rolled half over before his body went slack andmotionless. He had fainted.
The first thing Yeager did was to take the bandanna handkerchief fromhis neck and use it as a gag for his prisoner. He dragged the blanketsfrom their corner and tore one of them into strips. With these he boundthe hands of Pasquale behind him and tied his feet together. Heunloosened the revolver belt of the Mexican and strapped it about hisown waist. The silver-trimmed sombrero he put on his head and the serapehe flung round his shoulders and across the lower part of his face inthe same way the garment had been worn by its owner.
Steve glanced around to see that he had everything he needed.
"They's no manner o' doubt but you're taking a big chancet, son," hedrawled to himself after the manner of an old range-rider he knew. "Butwe sure gotta take a long shot and gamble with the lid off. Any man whostops S. Yeager to-night is liable to find him a bad hombre. So-long,general."
He opened the door and stepped out. His heart was jumping queerly. Theimpulse was on him to cut across to the cottonwood grove on the deadrun, but he knew this would never do. Instead, he sauntered easily intothe moonlight with the negligence of one who has all night before hiscasual steps.
The sharp command of the guard outside slackened his stride.
"Gabriel," he called back over his shoulder without stopping.
"Si, senor. Buenos tardes."
"Buenos."
He moved at a leisurely pace down the street until he was opposite thecottonwoods. Here he diverged from the dusty road.
"Hope the old scalawag wasn't lying about that cavallo waiting forSteve. I'm plumb scairt to death till I get out of this here wolf's den.Me, I'm too tender to monkey with any revolutions. I've knowed it happenfrequent that a man got his roof blowed off for buttin' in where hewasn't invited." He was still impersonating the old cowman as a vent tohis excitement, which found no expression in the cool, deliberatemotions of his lithe body.
Steve knew that voice, would have known it among a thousand. Since hehad no desire at this moment to hold a conversation with Ramon Culverahe drove his heels into the side of the cow pony. The horse leapedforward just as a revolver rang out. So close did the shot come toYeager that it lifted the sombrero from his head as he dodged.
After he was out of range Yeager laughed. "Pasquale gets his hat backagain--ventilated. Oh, well, it's bad enough to be a horse-thief withoutburglarizing a man's haberdashery. You're sure welcome to it, Gabriel."
He kept the horse at a gallop, for he knew he would be pursued. But hisheart was lifted in him, for he was leaving behind him a shameful death.All Sonora lay before him in which to hide, and in front of himstretched a distant line beyond which was the U.S.A. and safety.
The bench upon which he was riding dropped to a long roll of hillsstretching to the horizon. The chances were a hundred to one that amongthese he would be securely hidden from the pursuit inside of an hour.
"Git down in yore collar to it, you buckskin," he urged his ponycheerfully. "This ain't no time to dream. You got to travel some,believe me. Steve played a bum hand for all it was worth and I can seewhere he's right to hit the grit some lively. Burn the wind, youbuzzard-haid."
An hour later he drew his pony to a road gait and lifted his head to thefirst faint flush of a dawning day. He sang softly, because by a miracleof good fortune that coming sun brought him life and not death. The songhe caroled was, "When Gabriel blows his horn in the mawnin'."
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