n me unexpect' and strike
me here with an axe?" He touched the back of his head, across which a
wide bandage ran. "Be sure I will cut his heart out some day. Gabriel
Pasquale has said it. And you--you come here to spy what we have. You
claim my cattle. Am I a fool that I do not know?"

"We are sorry--"

The Mexican struck the table with his hairy brown fist so that the
dishes rang. "Sorry! Jesu Cristo! In good time I shall see to that. If I
do not lay hands upon this devil Yeager, his friends will do instead. Am
I one to be laughed at by Gringos?"

Threewit spoke as firmly as he could, though the fear of this big,
unshaven savage was in his heart. "We are not spies, general. We were
brought here by the lie that Yeager lay here dying and had sent for us.
In no way have we harmed you. Before you go too far, remember that our
Government will not tolerate any foul play. We are not stray
sheepherders. Our friends are close to the President. They have his ear
and--"

Pasquale leaned forward and snapped his fingers in the face of Threewit.
"That for your President and your Government. Pouf! I snap my fingers. I
spit on them. Mexico for the Mexicans. To the devil with all
foreigners."

He nodded to the guard. "Away with them!"

As they left they could hear him roaring for another bottle.

CHAPTER XVII

PEDRO CABENZA

The Patriotic Legion of the Northern States was drinking mescal and
gambling for the paper money Pasquale had issued and rolling about in
the dust with joyous whoops from each squirming mass. It was a happy
Legion, though a dirty one. It let its chief do all the worrying about
how it was to be fed and transported. Cheerfully it went its ragged way,
eating, drinking, sleeping, card-playing, rolling in the dust of its
friendly wrestling. What matter that many members of the Legion were
barefoot, that its horses were scarecrows, that gunnysacks and ends of
wires from baled hay and bits of frazzled rope all made contribution to
the saddles and bridles of the cavalry! Was Pasquale not going to take
them straight to Mexico City, where all of them would be made rich at
the expense of the accursed Federals who had trodden upon the face of
the poor? Caramba! Soon now the devil would have his own.

A burro appeared at one end of the hot and dusty street. Beside the
burro limped a man, occasionally beating the animal on the rump with a
switch he carried. The Legion took a languid interest. This was some