A STAGE PREPARED FOR TRAGEDY
Not knowing when his opportunity might come, Harrison kept his horse
saddled most of the time. He knew that extra mounted patrols were kept
at the ends of the streets and at other points on the mesa surrounding
the town, and that he would have to take a chance of being able to run
the gauntlet in safety. If luck favored him, he might win past these.
For one thing the Mexicans were very poor shots, a little the worst he
had ever seen. It might be, too, that he would have darkness in his
favor, though he could not count on this.
By Enrique he had sent to Governor Farrugia a map of the camp, giving
detailed information as to the number and position of the troops and
showing from what direction the camp could best be attacked. In his
letter he had urged immediate action, on the ground that a part of the
men were absent with Major Ochampa on a foraging expedition. If Farrugia
rose to the occasion, he hoped in the confusion of the assault to escape
with Ruth.
Meanwhile he waited, and the hours slipped away. It was now Friday
noon, and the wedding was to be Saturday morning.
Four denim-clad troopers and a sergeant marched raggedly down the street
and stopped in front of Harrison's adobe house.
"The general wishes to see the señor," explained the sergeant.
The American knew the crucial hour had come. This was the first move of
Pasquale in the programme to destroy him. He made no protest, but
stepped forward at once, leading his horse by the bridle. The sergeant
was a little dubious about the horse, but his orders did not cover the
point and he made no objection.
Pasquale was standing in front of his house on the porch, bow legs wide
apart and hands crossed behind his back. Harrison stopped directly in
front of him. The soldiers moved back a dozen yards.
"Well," demanded the heavyweight.
"I sent for you to explain something to me, sir," said the Mexican
general harshly.
"What is it?"
"This letter and map."
Pasquale stepped forward, handed two papers to Harrison, and quickly
stepped back till his back was against the wall of the house. Something
in his manner stirred the banked suspicions of the American. Already his
nerves were keyed to unusual tension, for he knew the moment of crux
was hurrying toward him. Why had the troopers fallen back so far? Why
was Pasquale so anxious to put a wide space between himself and his
prisoner?
The eyes of the film actor, clouded with doubt of what was about to take
place, fell to the papers in his hand. He was looking at the letter and
the map he had sent to Governor Farrugia.
Instantly his mind was made up. But as the blue barrel of his revolver
flashed into sight there came the simultaneous roar of a volley. The
force of it seemed to lift Harrison from his feet. Before his sagging
knees had touched the dust the man was dead.
Pasquale drew a forty-five and fired three times into the lax and
huddled body. He nodded to the men in the smoke-filled windows upstairs.
"Come down and bury this Gringo dog's body," he ordered.
They trooped down noisily. Pasquale kicked the body carelessly with his
toe. "He was a traitor to the cause. The proof is in that paper. Hand it
to me, Juan."
The general read the letter aloud. "He would have betrayed us all but
for the patriotism of a messenger who would not be bribed. The man
deserved death. Not so?"
They shouted approval and added, "Viva Pasquale!" in an enthusiastic
roar. Ramon Culvera, who had just arrived on the scene, led the cheering
with much vigor.
From every house men, boys, and women poured. The streets filled with
noisy patriots. Guns popped here and there to ventilate the energy of
their owners. Troopers galloped up and down the road in clouds of dust
shooting into the air as they rode. Boys who would have run their legs
off to obey a whim of Harrison spat contemptuously upon the face of the
"Gringo cabrone."
Drawn by the hubbub, Captain Holcomb hurried from his house. He looked
down at the lifeless body four soldiers were carrying away and turned to
Pasquale for an explanation.
The general handed him the papers that proved Harrison's guilt. "I have
executed a traitor, captain. The dog would have sold us out to Farrugia.
Is his punishment not just?"
Holcomb looked the papers over and handed them back to his chief. "He
got what was coming to him," he answered quietly.
"I have witnesses to show that he was drawing his revolver to
assassinate me at the very moment he was shot. My men were just in
time."
"It was fortunate for you your men happened to be so handy," replied
the American officer with just a suggestion of dryness.
For Holcomb knew, just as Yeager did, that the scene had been set by
Pasquale for the killing. His men had been stationed in the windows
above, unknown to the victim. The heavyweight had been tempted to reach
for his weapon by the certainty that he had come to the end of the
passage. Doing so, he had given the signal for his own death. Had he
failed to do this, the Mexican general would have sprung the trap
himself in another minute. Fortunately this had not been necessary.
Pasquale was in a position to prove to the United States Government, in
case it became inquisitive, that when the man had been confronted with
his guilt he had tried to kill him and had been shot down red-handed.
Half an hour later Holcomb came into his house and found Steve cleaning
a pair of revolvers. The captain tossed his hat on the bed and sat down.
"Up to us, looks like," he commented.
Yeager nodded silently.
"Harrison hadn't a look-in. The old scoundrel had the cards stacked,"
continued the officer.
"Yep. Chad sat in against a cold deck. He made a big mistake when he let
the old man take the play."
"Everything fixed for to-night?"
"Far as it can be. We've just got to take a big chance and trust to luck
being with us," answered Steve.
"Guess you'll have to make your own luck. I spoke to Pasquale about a
game here to-night. He grabbed at the bait. Said he would bring Culvera
and Ochampa. I'll make a long session of it so as to give you all the
time you need."
"Better have a boy here to serve the liquor and cigars. If you should
hear shooting, and Gabriel gets anxious about it, you can send the boy
to find out what it's about. That will give us a few minutes more to get
away."
"Sure your dope is strong enough?"
"The man who fixed it ought to know. He's a registered druggist at
Phoenix," replied the range-rider.
Yeager had never before sat in the anxious seat as nervously as he did
during the next few hours. His nature was not of the kind to borrow
trouble. Usually he could accept responsibility without letting it worry
him. But to-night he was playing for big stakes--his own life certainly
was in the hazard, probably those of Farrar and Threewit, possibly that
of the Texan. And what weighed with him more than all these was the fate
of the young girl in the back room upstairs waiting with a leaden heart
for this dreadful thing that was to befall her. It was in the game that
a man must take his fighting chance. But a girl--and above all girls
Ruth--the thought of it stabbed his heart like a knife.