essing against the table. There was a faint
smile of triumph, on his masked, immobile face.

"Farewell, Senor Yeager," he said softly. "After all, it's a world full
of 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 turned
quietly to the insurgent leader.

"How about it, general? Do I get a pass to Kingdom Come--because I stood
by a half-grown kid when two blacklegs were robbing him?"

"You shot Mendoza, eh?" demanded Pasquale, his heavy brows knit in a
frown.

"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 and
Mendoza. They were cross-lifting him--and playing with a cold deck at
that. I warned the kid. They began shooting. I could have killed either
of them, but I blew out the lights instead. In self-defense the boy shot
Mendoza. We escaped through the door. The trouble was none of our
seeking."

Culvera shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands in a gesture of
bland denial. "Lies! All lies, general. Have I not already told you the
truth?"

Coldly Pasquale pronounced judgment. "What matter which one shot
Mendoza. Both were firing. Both escaped together. Both are equally
guilty." He clapped his hands. A trooper entered. "'Tonio, get a guard
and take this man to prison. See that he is kept safe. To-morrow at dawn
he 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 be
it. You pay forfeit."

Yeager nodded. He wasted no breath in useless protest against the
decision of this man of iron. What must be, must. A plea for mercy or
for a reversal of judgment would be mere weakness.

"If that's the way you play the game there's no use hollering. I'll take
my medicine, because I must. But I'll just take one little flyer of a
guess at the future, general. If you don't put friend Culvera out of
business, it will presently be, 'Good-night, Pasquale.' He's a right
anxious and ambitious little lieutenant, I shouldn't wonder."

Harrison triumphed openly. He followed out of the house the file of
soldiers who took his enemy away.

"Told you I'd git even a-plenty, didn't I?" he