THE TEXAN TAKES A LONG JOURNEY Pasquale was as good as his word. He arranged that Yeager should see the function from first to last. The wounded man, his hands tied behind his back, heavily guarded, was in the front row of the crowd which lined the short walk between the headquarters of the general and the little adobe church. The petty officer in command told him that after the bridal procession had passed he was to be taken into the balcony of the church for the ceremony. "And afterward, while Gabriel makes love to the muchacha, the Gringo Yeager will learn what it means to displease the Liberator," promised the brown man with a twinkle of cruel little eyes. Steve gave no sign that he heard. He understood perfectly that the ingenuity of Pasquale would make the day one long succession of tortures for him. It was up to him to mask his face and manner with the stoicism of an Apache. At a little distance he saw Farrar and Threewit, both of them very anxious and pale. He would have called a greeting to them except that he was afraid it might prejudice their chances. Captain Holcomb passed in front of him and stopped. "Mornin', Steve," he said. "Mornin', captain." The haggard eyes of the cowpuncher asked a question before his lips framed it. "Can't you do anything for the little girl? Has this hellish thing got to go through?" "The prisoner will keep silent," snapped the Mexican sergeant. Holcomb looked at the man with eyes of chill authority. "When I speak to the prisoner he answers. Understand?" "Si, senor," muttered the sergeant, taken aback. "But the general said--" "Forget it," cut in the Texan crisply. He turned to Yeager and spoke deliberately, looking straight at him. "Pasquale is going through with this thing. Just as sure as the old reprobate is alive the padre will marry your little friend to him within half an hour." Was Captain Holcomb giving him a message? Steve did not know. It seemed to him that there was some hidden meaning in the long look of the steady eyes. The soldier nodded curtly and turned away. The Texan was dressed with unusual care. He was wearing tanned boots newly polished and the trim khaki uniform of an officer of the United States Army. Looking at him, Yeager thought he had never seen a finer figure of a man. He carried himself with the light firmness of a trained soldier. The cowpuncher was puzzled. Had Holcomb an ace up his sleeve? If so, what could it be? He had said that the marriage would be pushed through _just as sure as Pasquale was alive_. Had there been the slightest emphasis on that part of the sentence? Steve was not certain. It had struck him that the captain's soft voice had lingered on the words, but that might have been fancy. Yet he could not escape the feeling that something tragic was impending. The chattering of the peons crowded in the road died away as if at a signal. From the other end of the line rose a shout. "Viva Pasquale! Viva Pasquale!"