Mamie was now forgotten. Transformation in the rurale was to be witnessed, moreover, at this point. The man seemed higher, rising in his saddle with enthusiasm. Here was one of the pride of the Republic, indeed, having banished all present care, in the thought of the recent exploits of his troop, and especially of the light-hearted and inimitable courage of his chief, Ramon Bistula, el capitan, to whom the bandit’s capture was largely due. Tributes, dithyrambs, even--but no news. ‘You say Monte Vallejo is dead--already put to death?’ ‘To-day. This very day, Señor.’ ‘And by the hand of this famous captain of your troop?’ ‘Si, Señor.’ ‘Where is your captain now?’ Elbert asked at random. ‘In Arecibo--have no fear. The Señor will be welcomed by el capitan Ramon, himself, who put the bullet in the head of the chief of the bandits, Monte Vallejo!’ Elbert struggled with his own composure. ‘I do not understand about your captain’s bullet--if Monte was already taken captive--surely he--’ ‘This very day!’ exclaimed the rurale. ‘It was so, Señor--a most charming thing! The great Vallejo had many wounds at the time--many wounds, but would not fall. Laughing, he stood unbound--his head uncovered, trying to light with wet fingers a second cigarette that would not burn--’ ‘I did not hear about the first. Please, not so fast,’ said Elbert. ‘My Spanish is of the book--not so fast, please--’ ‘Ah, Señor, your Spanish is quite--Castillano, quite. The Spanish of el capitan Ramon is like that, also--’ And this was the story that Elbert heard, through many repetitions, as they rode forward toward Arecibo: ‘... At daybreak this very day, seven men put to death in the patio of el cuartel in Arecibo by the limping idiots of Cordano who call themselves soldiers. Seven prisoners, bound and blindfolded, shot down by the soldiers of Cordano, while Monte himself and el capitan, Ramon Bistula, laughed and smoked and chatted together, until there were no more prisoners standing, and it became time for Monte himself to stand against the wall. ‘No bandage for the eyes--ah, no, not for such as he! No thongs for his hands--he waved them away; then stepping carefully to avoid the dead and shaking ones of his band, Monte took his place against the blank wall--lighting another cigarette.’