see the senor," explained the sergeant.

The American knew the crucial hour had come. This was the first move of
Pasquale in the programme to destroy him. He made no protest, but
stepped forward at once, leading his horse by the bridle. The sergeant
was a little dubious about the horse, but his orders did not cover the
point and he made no objection.

Pasquale was standing in front of his house on the porch, bow legs wide
apart and hands crossed behind his back. Harrison stopped directly in
front of him. The soldiers moved back a dozen yards.

"Well," demanded the heavyweight.

"I sent for you to explain something to me, sir," said the Mexican
general harshly.

"What is it?"

"This letter and map."

Pasquale stepped forward, handed two papers to Harrison, and quickly
stepped back till his back was against the wall of the house. Something
in his manner stirred the banked suspicions of the American. Already his
nerves were keyed to unusual tension, for he knew the moment of crux
was hurrying toward him. Why had the troopers fallen back so far? Why
was Pasquale so anxious to put a wide space between himself and his
prisoner?

The eyes of the film actor, clouded with doubt of what was about to take
place, fell to the papers in his hand. He was looking at the letter and
the map he had sent to Governor Farrugia.

Instantly his mind was made up. But as the blue barrel of his revolver
flashed into sight there came the simultaneous roar of a volley. The
force of it seemed to lift Harrison from his feet. Before his sagging
knees had touched the dust the man was dead.

Pasquale drew a forty-five and fired three times into the lax and
huddled body. He nodded to the men in the smoke-filled windows upstairs.

"Come down and bury this Gringo dog's body," he ordered.

They trooped down noisily. Pasquale kicked the body carelessly with his
toe. "He was a traitor to the cause. The proof is in that paper. Hand it
to me, Juan."

The general read the letter aloud. "He would have betrayed us all but
for the patriotism of a messenger who would not be bribed. The man
deserved death. Not so?"

They shouted approval and added, "Viva Pasquale!" in an enthusiastic
roar. Ramon Culvera, who had just arrived on the scene, led the cheering
with much vigor.

From every house men, boys, and women poured. The streets filled with
noisy patriots. Guns popped here and there to ventilate the energy of
their owners. Troopers galloped up an