ad issued.

Until recently Ochampa had been a small farmer himself. He bargained
shrewdly for the supplies, but in Cabenza he found a match. The man
haggled to the last cent and then called on Heaven to witness that he
had practically given away the goods for nothing. But when the sergeant
led him away to enlist he was beaming at the bargain he had made.

Cabenza became at once an unobtrusive unit in the army. He could lie for
hours and bask in the sunshine with the patient content of the Mexican
peon. He could eat frijoles and tortillas week in and week out, offering
no complaint at the monotony of his diet. He was as lazy, as hopeful,
and as unambitious as several thousand other riders of the Legion.
Nobody paid the least attention to him except to require of him the not
very arduous duties of camp service. Presently Pasquale would move south
and renew the campaign. Meanwhile his troopers had an indolent, easy
time of it.

On the evening of the day after his enlistment Pedro Cabenza strolled
across toward the prison where he had been told two Americans were held
captive. Two guards sat outside in front of the door and gossiped.
Cabenza, moved apparently by a desire for companionship, indifferently
drifted toward them. He sat down. Presently he produced a bottle
furtively. All three drank, to good health, to the success of the
revolution, a third time to the day when they should march, victorious
into the great city in the south.

They became exhilarated. Cabenza found it necessary to work off his
excitement upon the prisoners. He stood on tiptoe, holding the window
bars in his hands, and jeered at the men within.

"Ho, ho, Gringos! May the devil fly away with you! Food for powder--food
for powder! Some fine morning the general will give orders and--we shall
bury you in the sand by the river. Not so?" he scoffed in his own
language.

One of the Americans within drew near the window.

"Listen," he said. "Do you want to earn some money--ten--twenty--one
hundred dollars in gold? Will you take a letter for me to Los Robles?"

"No. The general would skin me alive. I spit upon your offer. I throw
dirt upon you."

Cabenza stooped, in his hand scooped up some dust from the ground, and
flung it between the bars.

One of the guards pulled him back savagely.

"Icabron! Know you not the orders of the general? None are to talk with
the Gringos. Away, fool! Because of the drink Pablo and I will forget.
Away!"

Cabenz