AT SUNSET
Steve, in solitary confinement, with only his throbbing leg for company,
was under no illusions as to what his punishment would be. Pasquale had
been killed by an American who had been seen talking with Yeager five
minutes before he had shot the general. The charge against him would
probably be conspiracy, but it did not much matter what the excuse was.
His life would be snuffed out certainly.
There were several reasons why Culvera should sacrifice him and not one
why he should be spared. Ramon had a personal grudge against him, and
the new commander was not a man to forget to pay debts of this kind.
Moreover, the easiest way to still any whispered doubts of his own
loyalty to Pasquale was to show sharp severity in punishing those
charged with being implicated in his death.
Yeager accepted it as settled that he was doomed.
But what about his friends? What of Threewit and Farrar? And, above all,
what of Ruth? Would Culvera think it necessary to extend his vengeance
to them? Or would prudence stay his hand after he had executed the chief
offender?
Culvera was a good politician. The chances were that he would not risk
stirring up a hornet's nest by shooting a man as well known in the
United States as Threewit. Since Farrar was in the same case, he would
probably stand or fall by the Lunar director. As for Ruth--her _life_
would be safe enough. There was no doubt of that. But--what of her
future?
Ramon was a known libertine. No scruples would restrain him if he
thought the game was a safe quarry. And Steve knew with a sinking heart
that he could offer to any official inquiry of the United States
Government a plausible story of an abandoned woman who had come to camp
to sell her charms to the highest bidder. It would be easy to show that
she had ridden down with a man suspected of being a rustler and known to
be a bad character, that she had jilted him for Pasquale who was already
married and a good deal more than twice her age, and that after the
death of Gabriel she had turned at once to his successor. To twist the
facts in support of such an interpretation of her conduct would require
only a little distortion here and there. The truth, twisted, makes the
most damnable lies.
Without any heroics Holcomb had given his life to save her because she
was an American woman. Yeager counted himself a dead man in the same
cause. What wrung his heart now, and set him limping up and down his
cell regardless of the pain from his wounded leg, was the fear that the
price had been paid in vain. Little Ruth! Little Ruth! His heart went
out to her in an agony of despair.
While he clung rigid to the window bars of his prison the rusty lock in
the door creaked. The sergeant with the cruel little eyes entered with
three men.
"Ho, ho! The general wants the Gringo to cut out his heart and liver.
Come! Let us not keep him waiting. He is sharpening the knife and it may
lose the edge."
A horse was waiting outside and the prisoner was assisted to the saddle.
One man led the horse by the bridle and on either side of Yeager rode a
second and a third. All of them were armed. The new general was taking
no chances of an escape.
At sight of the American the young Mexican at the head of the long table
where Pasquale had held his councils showed a flash of fine teeth in a
glittering smile.
"Welcome, Señor Yeager. How is the wounded leg?"
Steve nodded casually. "It's talking to me, general, but I reckon it's
good enough to do all the walking I'll ask of it," he answered quietly.
Culvera turned with a laugh to Ochampa. "He is what the Gringoes call
game. Is it not so, major?"
Ochampa, his wounded leg on a chair, grunted.
"Turn about is fair play. How is _your_ leg, major?" asked Steve.
The major glared at him. "Is it that I must put up with the insolence of
this scoundrel, general?" he demanded.
"Not for long," replied Culvera suavely. "Pedro Cabenza, or Yeager, or
whatever you call yourself, you have been tried for rebellion,
insubordination, and conspiracy to kill General Pasquale. You have been
sentenced to be shot at sunset. The order of the military court will be
carried out as decreed."
The cowpuncher took it without the twitching of a muscle in the brown
face. He knew there was no use of an appeal for mercy and he made none.
"So I've been tried and convicted without even being present. Fine
business. I reckon you've got an explanation handy when Uncle Sam comes
asking whyfor you murdered an American citizen."
Culvera lifted in mock surprise his eyebrows. "An American citizen!
Surely not. I execute Pedro Cabenza, a peon, enlisted in the Army of
the North, because he plotted with the foes of the Republic and helped
prisoners escape, and because he conspired to assassinate our glorious
chief, General Pasquale." Ramon put his forearm on the table and leaned
forward with an ironic smile. "But your point is well made, Pedro. Lies
spread on the wings of the wind. I shall forestall any slanderous
untruths by having a photograph taken of you before the execution, and
another of your body afterward. I thank you for the suggestion."
Though it told against him the American knew this was a bull's-eye hit.
A photograph of him in his rags, with his serape and his ventilated
sombrero, face as brown as a berry, would be sufficient proof to
exonerate Culvera of the charge of having shot an American. Steve had
made up too well for the part. At worst Culvera could plead a
regrettable mistake.
"You make out a good case against Pedro Cabenza, general," admitted the
condemned man evenly. "Good enough. We'll put him in the discard. I
suppose you won't deny that Threewit and Farrar and Miss Seymour are
Americans."
With a confidential grin Ramon nodded. "You've put your finger on the
pulse of my difficulty. You see, I talk to you frankly because I have
the best of reasons for knowing you will never betray me. No doubt you
recall your proverb about dead men telling tales. Just so. Well, I don't
know what the devil to do with your friends Farrar and Threewit. I have
nothing against them, but if I send them home they will talk. Would it
be best, do you think, to arrange an accident for them while on the way
back to Arizona?"
"Not at all. I'll make a written confession, and they can sign it as
witnesses, that I plotted against Pasquale and was implicated in his
murder. That will let you out nicely, general. Then you can send them
home, and the young lady in their care. So you will even scores with me
quite safely to yourself."
The Mexican commander looked steadily out of the window at a dog
scratching himself in the street. "I don't recall mentioning the young
lady. Her future is arranged."
The temples of the cowpuncher throbbed. He pretended to misunderstand
the meaning of the other man. "Of course. I understand that you can do
nothing else but send her home. The one thing that would bring our army
across the line on the jump would be for you to hurt a hair of this
girl's head. You could kill a dozen men and get away with it quicker
than you could to insult one little girl. But, of course, you know
that."
The fingers of Culvera drummed absently on the table. "I think the
señorita and I will be able to adjust the matter without any help from
you. If you have any last messages for her I'll be glad to carry them,
since I expect to see her this evening."
Steve had disdained to beg for himself, but now he begged for the girl
he loved.
"You're a man, Ramon Culvera. Nobody ever claimed there is any yellow in
you. Your father was a gentleman and so is his son. You fight with men
and not with timid girls. You wouldn't do this girl dirt because she is
alone and has no friends near. Think of your own sisters, man."
Ochampa moved restlessly in his chair. "We had better send the girl
home. She will bring us trouble else."
His superior officer flashed a quick look at him. "That is a bridge we
shall cross when we come to it. Meanwhile I say adios, Señor Yeager.
Shall I send you the padre?"
"Thanks, no! But remember this. You stake your whole future on the
treatment you give Miss Seymour. If you don't play fair with her, you
lose."
Ramon clapped his hands three times. A soldier entered the room.
"Take the Gringo back to his prison," ordered Culvera.
"The order stands, general? At sunset?" asked the man.
"It stands," assented Ramon; and turned to Ochampa: "Have you agreed on
a price for that bunch of cattle with the Flying D rustlers, major?"