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?"
She wept with gladness and relief while he held her tightly in his arms
and promised to keep her against all harm as long as life lasted.
And afterward, when smiles came again, they fell into the inarticulate
babblings that from the beginning of time have been the expression of
lovers.
They forgot time, so that neither knew how long it had been before a
denim-clad soldier stood saluting in the doorway.
Steve, over his shoulder, fired a question at the man. "What do you
want?"
"The compliments of General Culvera, señor and señorita, and I was to
remind you that luncheon has been waiting twenty minutes."
Steve and Ruth looked at each other and laughed. They went downstairs
hand in hand.
THE END