"Friend! I tell you he's a spy, general. This man killed Mendoza. He's here to sell you out." The sleek black head of Culvera swung quickly round till his black eyes met the blue ones of Yeager. He flung his hand straight out toward the Anglo-Saxon. "Mil diablos! What a dolt I am. It's the very man, and I've been racking my brain to think where I met him before." Yeager laughed hardily. "I've got a better memory, senor. Knew you the moment I set eyes on you, though it was some smoky when we last met." Culvera rose, his knuckles pressing against the table. There was a faint smile of triumph, on his masked, immobile face. "Farewell, Senor Yeager," he said softly. "After all, it's a world full of hardship and unpleasantness. You're well rid of it." Steve knew his sole appeal lay in Pasquale. Ochampo was a nonentity. Both Harrison and Culvera had already condemned him to death. He turned quietly to the insurgent leader. "How about it, general? Do I get a pass to Kingdom Come--because I stood by a half-grown kid when two blacklegs were robbing him?" "You shot Mendoza, eh?" demanded Pasquale, his heavy brows knit in a frown. "No; I helped the boy escape who did." "You were both employed by the enemy to murder him and Culvera--not so?" "Nothing of the sort. Young Seymour was in a poker game with Culvera and Mendoza. They were cross-lifting him--and playing with a cold deck at that. I warned the kid. They began shooting. I could have killed either of them, but I blew out the lights instead. In self-defense the boy shot Mendoza. We escaped through the door. The trouble was none of our seeking." Culvera shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands in a gesture of bland denial. "Lies! All lies, general. Have I not already told you the truth?" Coldly Pasquale pronounced judgment. "What matter which one shot Mendoza. Both were firing. Both escaped together. Both are equally guilty." He clapped his hands. A trooper entered. "'Tonio, get a guard and take this man to prison. See that he is kept safe. To-morrow at dawn he will be shot." The trooper withdrew. Pasquale continued evenly. "We have one rule, Senor Yeager. He who kills one of us is our enemy. If we capture him, that man dies. Fate has shaken the dice and they fall against you. So be it. You pay forfeit." Yeager nodded. He wasted no breath in useless protest against the decision of this man of iron. What must be, must. A plea for mercy or for a reversal of judgment would be mere weakness. "If that's the way you play the game there's no use hollering. I'll take my medicine, because I must. But I'll just take one little flyer of a guess at the future, general. If you don't put friend Culvera out of business, it will presently be, 'Good-night, Pasquale.' He's a right anxious and ambitious little lieutenant, I shouldn't wonder." Harrison triumphed openly. He followed out of the house the file of soldiers who took his enemy away.