Culvera turned the prisoner so that the moon fell full upon his face. He looked searchingly at him. Yeager knew that he was discovered. He spoke in English. "Good-evening, Colonel Culvera. You've guessed right, but you've guessed it a little too late." "What is this? Who is this man?" demanded Pasquale harshly. "The man Yeager, who escaped from you two weeks since," explained Ramon. "He has been in camp with us over a week arranging this girl's escape." The old general let out a bellow of rage. He strode forward to make sure for himself. Roughly he seized his prisoner by the hair of the head and twisted the face toward him. "Sorry I had to leave you so abruptly last time, general. Did you have a pleasant night?" taunted Yeager. Gabriel choked. He was beyond words. "I see you haven't been able to get anybody else to assassinate your friend Culvera yet," he said pleasantly. The American had given up hope of life. He was trying to spur Pasquale into such an uncontrollable anger that his death would be a swift and easy one. "Tie him hand and foot. Let a dozen men armed with rifles stay in the room with him till I return. Ochampa, I hold you responsible. If he escapes--" "He won't escape," answered the major. "I'll see to that myself." "See that you do." Pasquale swung to the saddle and looked around. "Ramon, you're not a fool. Where shall we look for this girl and those with her?" he demanded, scowling. "They must have horses to escape, general. Except in the stable here, which is guarded heavily, the nearest are across the river in the direction they must be moving." "Of course. Juan, have the remuda driven up and let every man saddle his horse. We'll comb these hills if we must. Maldito! She shan't escape me." He galloped off at the head of his troop, taking the short cut to the pasture. The prisoner was dragged into the house where Ochampa was staying. A doctor presently arrived and took care of the wounded leg of the major. After he had finished dressing it, he turned to Yeager. "No use bothering with mine. I'll have worse wounds soon," the man from Arizona told him calmly. The little doctor smiled genially because his heart was good. "Quien sabe, senor? Yet it is my duty," he reminded his patient gently. "Old Gabriel might not say so," demurred Steve. Yet he conceded the point and let the surgeon minister to him. There was no anaesthetic. The patient had to set his teeth and bear the pain while the bullet was removed and the wound washed and dressed. Little beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. The lean muscles of his cheeks stood out like ropes. But no sound escaped his lips. "You are a brave man," said the doctor when he had finished. "I wish you good fortune, sir." A faint smile rested in the eyes of the cowpuncher. "I'm right likely to have it, don't you think?" he asked ironically.