"He has certainly been heard of in Mexico," said Jacqueline, whereat Fra Diavolo turned to her gratefully. "But," she added, "Monsieur Ney will now find in him another objection to my journeying overland." The ardor of the bandit's eulogist faltered. "The senor might indeed," he confessed, "only," and here he hesitated like a man contemplating suicide, "only, Don Rodrigo has been--yes, he's been shot, from ambush; and his band--yes, his band is scattered forever." Having achieved the painful massacre, Fra Diavolo traveled on more easily to assure the senorita that since then the country had been entirely pacified. Ney, however, was not. How did they know the story was true? And if it was, he was sorry. He would enjoy meeting the terrible and provokingly deceased Monsieur Rodrigue, if only to teach him that being terrible is not good manners. But, did they know for certain that the bandit was dead? "We do," said the Mexican, again like a reluctant suicide, "because I killed him myself." "But how are we to know, sir," Ney persisted, "that you are so terrible on your own account?" "My identification, you mean? Bueno, it is only just. Here, this may do," and the ranchero drew a paper from his money belt and handed it to Jacqueline. The paper was an order addressed to one Captain Maurel, who was to proceed with his company to the district of Tampico, and there to take and to shoot the guerrilla thief, Rodrigo Galan, and all his band, who infested the district aforesaid, known as the Huasteca. The Captain Maurel would take note that this Rodrigo Galan frequented the very city of Tampico itself, with an impudence to be punished at all hazards. Signed: Dupin, Colonel of His Majesty's Contra Guerrillas. "Colonel Dupin?" Jacqueline repeated with a wry mouth. Dupin, the Contra-Guerrilla chief, was a brave Frenchman. But the quality of his mercy had made his name a shudder on the lips of all men, his own countrymen included. "Yes," said Fra Diavolo between his teeth, "Mi Coronel Dupin--the Tiger." "So he is called, I know," said Jacqueline. "And you, it appears, are Captain Maurel--Maurel, but that is French?" "The way it is spelled on the paper, yes. But my Coronel, being French, made a mistake. He should have written it 'Morel.'" "No matter," said Jacqueline, "for you are only a trite, conventional officer, after all. But how much merrier it would be if you were--were----" and suddenly she leaned over the paper and placed an impetuous finger on the bandit's name. "So," she continued wistfully, "there is no danger. We ride, we take a stage. It is tame. I say it is tame, monsieur!"