are ready, gentlemen," he said quietly.

Ramon Culvera was the first to recover. From his automatic revolver he
flung a bullet into the straight, erect figure facing him. The others
crowded forward and fired into the body as it began to sink. The Texan
gave a sobbing sigh. Before his knees reached the ground he was dead.

The suddenness of the tragedy, its unexpectedness, held the crowd with
suspended breath. What was to follow? Was this the beginning of a
massacre? Each man looked at his neighbor. Another moment might bring
forth anything.

With a bound Ramon vaulted to the saddle of a horse standing near. His
sword made a half-circle of steel as it swept through the air. From
where he sat he could be seen by all.

"Brothers of the Legion, patriots all, let none become excited. I have
killed with my own hand the traitor who shot our beloved leader. Gabriel
Pasquale is dead, but our country lives. Viva Mexico!"

The answer came from thousands of brown, upturned faces. "Viva Mexico!
Viva Culvera!"

The young officer swung the sword around his head. His eyes flashed.
"Gracias. Friends, I solemnly pledge my life to the great cause of the
people. Our hero is dead. We mourn him and devote ourselves anew to the
principles for which he fought. Never shall I lay down this sword until
I have won for you the rights of a free nation. I promise you land for
all, wealth for all, freedom from tyranny. Down with all the foes of the
poor."

Again the shouts rang out, this time louder and clearer. Already these
simple, childlike peons were answering the call of their new master. Old
Pasquale, who for years had held their lives in the hollow of his hand,
lay crumpled on the ground almost forgotten. A new star was shining in
their firmament.

"We shall march to Mexico, down the usurper, and distribute the stolen
wealth of him and his pampered minions among the people to whom it
belongs. Every Mexican shall have a house, land, cattle. He shall be the
slave of none. His children shall be fed. We shall have peace and
plenty. I, Ramon Culvera, swear it. Mexico for the Mexicans."

Culvera was an orator. His resonant voice stirred the emotions of this
ragged mob that under the leadership of Pasquale had been hammered into
an army efficient enough to defeat well-armed regulars. The men pressed
closer to listen. Their primitive faces reflected the excitement the
speaker stirred in them. They interrupted with shouts and cheers.

Others