Ho, ho! The general wants the Gringo to cut out his heart and liver.
Come! Let us not keep him waiting. He is sharpening the knife and it may
lose the edge."

A horse was waiting outside and the prisoner was assisted to the saddle.
One man led the horse by the bridle and on either side of Yeager rode a
second and a third. All of them were armed. The new general was taking
no chances of an escape.

At sight of the American the young Mexican at the head of the long table
where Pasquale had held his councils showed a flash of fine teeth in a
glittering smile.

"Welcome, Senor Yeager. How is the wounded leg?"

Steve nodded casually. "It's talking to me, general, but I reckon it's
good enough to do all the walking I'll ask of it," he answered quietly.

Culvera turned with a laugh to Ochampa. "He is what the Gringoes call
game. Is it not so, major?"

Ochampa, his wounded leg on a chair, grunted.

"Turn about is fair play. How is _your_ leg, major?" asked Steve.

The major glared at him. "Is it that I must put up with the insolence of
this scoundrel, general?" he demanded.

"Not for long," replied Culvera suavely. "Pedro Cabenza, or Yeager, or
whatever you call yourself, you have been tried for rebellion,
insubordination, and conspiracy to kill General Pasquale. You have been
sentenced to be shot at sunset. The order of the military court will be
carried out as decreed."

The cowpuncher took it without the twitching of a muscle in the brown
face. He knew there was no use of an appeal for mercy and he made none.

"So I've been tried and convicted without even being present. Fine
business. I reckon you've got an explanation handy when Uncle Sam comes
asking whyfor you murdered an American citizen."

Culvera lifted in mock surprise his eyebrows. "An American citizen!
Surely not. I execute Pedro Cabenza, a peon, enlisted in the Army of
the North, because he plotted with the foes of the Republic and helped
prisoners escape, and because he conspired to assassinate our glorious
chief, General Pasquale." Ramon put his forearm on the table and leaned
forward with an ironic smile. "But your point is well made, Pedro. Lies
spread on the wings of the wind. I shall forestall any slanderous
untruths by having a photograph taken of you before the execution, and
another of your body afterward. I thank you for the suggestion."

Though it told against him the American knew this was a bull's-eye hit.
A photograph of him in his rag