Yeager dozed and wakened and dozed again. Always when he looked the light was still burning. Toward morning he saw the figure of Ruth in the window. When she turned away the light went out. He judged she had put her anxieties from her and given herself to sleep at last. But not until the camp began to stir with the renewal of life for another day did he leave his post and return to the stable. During the morning he slept under a cottonwood and made up arrears of rest lost while on guard. About noon Harrison came down the street and stopped at sight of him. The man was livid with anger. Yeager could guess the reason. He had spent a stormy ten minutes with old Pasquale demanding his rights and had issued from the encounter without profit. From the place where Steve was sitting he had heard the high, excited voices. It had occurred to him that the protest of Harrison had gone about as far as it could be safely carried, for Gabriel was both a ruthless and a hot-tempered despot. Harrison sat down sullenly without speaking and stared straight in front of him. He was boiling with impotent fury. Pasquale had the whip hand and meant to carry things his own way. Of that he no longer had any doubt. In bringing Ruth to Noche Buena he had made a great mistake. "Do you want to make some money, you--what's your name?" he presently rasped out. Yeager answered with the universal formula of the land. "Si, senor. And my name is Cabenza--Pedro Cabenza." The prizefighter glanced warily around, then lowered his voice. "I mean a lot of money--twenty dollars, maybe." "Gold?" asked the peon, wide-eyed. "Gold. How far would you go to earn that much?" "A long way, senor." Harrison caught him by the wrist with a grip that drove the blood back. "Listen, Cabenza. _Would you go as far as the camp of Garcia Farrugia?_" The close-gripped, salient jaw was thrust forward. Black eyes blazed from a set, snarling face. So, after all, the man was trafficking with the Federal governor all the time just as he was with the Constitutionalists. Yeager had once or twice suspected as much. "To the camp of Governor Farrugia," gasped Cabenza. "But--what for, senor?" "To carry him a letter. Never mind what for. You will get your pay. Is it not enough?" "And--Pasquale?" "Need never know. You can slip away this afternoon and be back by to-morrow night." Cabenza shook his head regretfully. "No. I am one of the horse wranglers. My boss would miss me if I was not here. I cannot go." The other man swore. At the same time he recognized the argument as effective. He must find a messenger who could absent himself without stirring up questions. "Then keep your mouth clamped," ordered Harrison. "I may be able to use you here. Anyhow, I want you to be ready to help if I need you." He slipped a dollar into the brown palm of the peon and left him.