?
He is without bowels of mercy, this son of a thief. But this I know: if
you are watched, you must not stay here. Gabriel will be suspicious lest
we are plotting something against him. Good luck, amigo."

The heavyweight took away with him a heavy heart. He had reached the
stage where his hand was against that of every man. Culvera he did not
trust at all out of his sight beyond the point where the interests of
the young Mexican were parallel to his. In the whole camp he had no
friend, not even the girl for whom he fought. As for Pasquale, Harrison
had told the truth. He believed the general had doomed him. Unless he
struck first, he was a lost man. Why had he been fool enough to boast
to the old scoundrel what he would do? His temper had robbed him of the
chance to kill and then escape.

He passed down the street toward the river. A dozen boys and young men
sat in the shadow of the adobe wall that fronted the road opposite one
of the corrals. It chanced that Harrison dropped his handkerchief at
this point and stooped to pick it up.

Thirty minutes later a barefooted youth came down to the river carrying
an olla for water. Harrison lay sleeping under a cottonwood that edged
the trail. One arm was outstretched so that the closed fist lay almost
across the path.

The soldier boy whistled gayly as he walked. Oddly enough, just as he
reached the sleeping Gringo, the outflung arm lifted abruptly from the
ground for an inch or two. A little package shot four feet up into the
air and was caught deftly by the barefoot trooper as it descended.

The lips of Harrison barely moved. "Ride to-night, Enrique. Colonel
Farrugia will also reward you well."

"Si, senor," nodded Enrique, and went on his way.

The face of the boy was toward the camp on the return journey. The
American was still fast asleep. The lad went whistling past him without
any sign of recognition.

Several times during the next hour Harrison took a long pull from a
bottle he carried in his coat pocket. After a time he rose and walked
heavily down the main street of the village until he came to the house
where Captain Holcomb had been put up.

The Texan was sitting on his porch smoking a pipe. Behind him, a few
feet away, Cabenza was cleaning a rifle for his new master.

"I wanta talk to you about something, Captain Holcomb," announced the
film actor.

The soldier looked at him steadily. "Go to it," he ordered curtly.

"This is private business."

Ho