It was drunk
with enthusiasm. The general gave them the United States, the sister
republic to the north, and spoke affectingly of his desire to promote a
better feeling between the countries by this marriage. The host had not
expected his poker party to develop so much oratory, but he rose briefly
to the occasion. The subject of his remarks was, "A United Mexico."

But it was Culvera who capped the climax. He rose, wineglass in hand,
and waited impressively for silence. For five minutes his tongue flowed
on in praises of the Liberator of the people. He heaped superlatives on
extravagant approval after the fashion of our political orators.

"Need I put a name to this patriot and hero who has won the unbounded
love and loyalty of my youth?" he asked rotundly. "Need I name the
Bolivar, the Washington of Mexico, the next president of this great
republic? If so, I but repeat the name that is on the lips of all the
thousands of our people to whom he is as a father--Gabriel Pasquale."

Holcomb smiled behind the hand that stroked his mustache. There was
nobody present who did not know pretty accurately how far Ramon's
attachment to his chief went. Gabriel himself, who embraced him
affectionately in thanks, had not the least doubt. But if he had no
illusions in the matter, he did not intend on that account to warn his
lieutenant prematurely that he was next on the list to Harrison.

Poker presently absorbed their attention. Holcomb was the genial host,
watchful of their wants and solicitous that they should be supplied. No
sign of anxiety betrayed that he was keyed up to a high nervous tension.
He told stories, laughed at those of the others, high spaded for drinks
(though as a matter of fact he was as host furnishing the liquor), made
post-mortem examinations of the deck, and otherwise showed a proper
interest. It was quite necessary that when Pasquale looked back over the
evening with later developments in mind he should not be able to find
any intimations that his host was accessory to the plan to escape.

Hour after hour slipped away. The captain began to let himself hope that
the forlorn hope of Yeager had brought safety to his friends. Surely by
this time he must either have won or lost his throw for liberty.

A single shot broke the stillness of the night.

Pasquale, dealing, stopped with a card in his hand.

"Funny thing how the guns of sentries are always going off
accidentally," remarked Holcomb casually. "Boy,