"Yes, to _ours_." He snatched her bridle. "Come! already we have wasted
too much time."
As they had spoken in English, Gordon heard all. Now he spoke. "You
stopped them killing me, but that would have been less wicked. Remember
she is no _peona_, but an American subject. For any mistreatment you
will be called to account by our government."
"Your government?" Turning his head, Ramon spat aside in the dust. "Your
government? The Germans harried us for three years till we ran down and
hanged the murderers of their countrymen at Covodonga. In Guerrero a
villageful of people were shot for the murder of one Englishman. For the
massacre of its citizens at Torreon even the Chinese demanded and
obtained an indemnity of five million dollars. But your government--for
the murder of hundreds of its men, dishonor of scores of its women, it
has lodged--complaints. One more or less will not embarrass us--nor help
_you_. Come on, hombre!"
As he moved off, leading Lee's beast, Gordon writhed in a last effort to
break his bonds. For the moment he was blinded by the rush of blood to
his straining eyeballs, but as his sight cleared he saw Lee looking
back. That womanly pity which transcends fear had lifted her for the
moment above her own terrors. Like a light filtering through a storm,
her smile gleamed wanly through the pale window of her distress. Then
the chaparral swallowed her, and he settled back in black despair.
Though it was only a few seconds, it seemed an hour passed before a foot
swinging into his line of vision caused him to look up. The
revolutionists had finished dividing the money and were looking down at
him.
"Going to cut my throat, now he's gone," Gordon read it--and did not
care.
But he had failed to count on the streak of good humor that crosscuts
even a bandit nature. "We are the richer by a hundred pesos by him."
Ilarian, the fellow who had tried to cut his throat, grinned at the
others. "Let us lift him over there in the shade."
"'Tis hard on thee, amigo," the fellow went on, after they moved him.
"'Tis hard to have thy girl snatched thus away. But have no
fear"--though he caught only an occasional word of Spanish, the
gestures, helped out by a gross leer, threw light brilliant as lightning
on his meaning--"we will avenge thee. These days the pretty ones go to
the strong. He has not got her yet. Adios--and better luck!"
As, laughing loudly, they left him, all the romance that had colored,
for him, the Mexican revolutions, drained away, leaving him with clear,
cold vision to face its dread facts--the tragic realities even then in
course where the smoke columns rose, far away, under brazen skies. In
agony of fear for Lee that transcended physical torture he watched them
go.