As he lowered the glasses after looking through them, Yeager laughed. "Funny how things come out. In this country cattle are like chips in a poker game. They ain't got any home, I reckon." "Meaning, senor?" suggested the insurgent chief. "Meaning that less than a week ago I paid a perfectly good check of the Lunar Company for that bunch of steers. We did aim to use them in some roundup sets, but I expect you've got another use for them." "Si, senor." "Hope Harrison held you up for a good price," suggested the American casually. Pasquale showed his teeth in a grin. "He was some anxious to unload in a hurry--had to take the market he could find handy." "Looks like he was afraid the goods might spoil on his hands," Steve commented dryly. "Maybeso. I didn't ask any questions and he didn't offer any explanations. Fifteen gold on the hoof was what I agreed to pay. Were you in on this with Harrison?" "I was and I wasn't. Me, I drove that bunch 'most forty miles, then he held me up and took the whole outfit from me." Pasquale saw he had made a mistake and promptly lied. "It wasn't Harrison I got them from at all--just wanted to see what you'd say." "Well, they didn't cost me a red cent. You're welcome to 'em as far as I'm concerned. Slow elk suits me fine. I'll help you eat them while I'm here, and that will be a week anyhow." "You're a good sport, Yeager, as you Gringos say. We'll get along like brothers. Not so?" The revolutionary chief was an incessant card-player. He had a greasy pack out as soon as they reached camp. Steve was invited to take a hand, also Ramon Culvera and a fat, bald-headed Mexican of fifty named Ochampa. Culvera, playing in luck, won largely from his chief, who accepted his run of ill fortune grouchily. Pasquale had been a peon in his youth, an outlaw for twenty years, and a czar for three. He was as much the subject of his own unbridled passions as is a spoiled and tyrannous child. Yeager, studying him, was careful to lose money with a laugh to the old despot and equally careful to see that the chips came back to him from Ochampa's side of the table. The cowpuncher knew fairly well the political rumors that were afloat in regard to the situation in northern Mexico. Pasquale as yet was dictator of the revolutionary forces, but there had been talk to the effect that Ramon Culvera was only biding his time. Other ambitious men had aspired to supplant Pasquale. They had died sudden, violent deaths. Ramon had been a great favorite of the dictator, but it was claimed signs were not lacking to show that a rupture between them was near. Watching them now, Yeager could well believe that this might be true. Culvera was suave, adroit, deferential as he raked in his chief's gold, but the irritability of the older man needed only an excuse to blaze. A blue-denim trooper came into the room and stood at attention. Pasquale nodded curtly. "Senor Harrison to see the general," said the private in Spanish.