"But you forget, senor, the mines that exploded in the highways. You forget the poisoned springs, the ambuscades, the massacres. Would they not shoot prisoners too, your new friends?" "Si senor, as you and others may some day experience personally." "Then, mighty judge, condemn them also." "Don't I? But I can't blame them. They are punishing crime." "But not of murder, as we did to-day." "That too, for that was murder to-day. But I was thinking of a worse crime. I was thinking of theft, sir." "Theft? How can that be worse?" "Theft of their country, I mean, and as your accomplice I owe restitution. Leaving after a victory ain't so bad, but if I'd known that I was fighting for that Black Decree, I'd of dropped out before the fight. But look at it anyway you please. _How_ it looks be damned!" "Senor, lay down your pistols and sabre, there, on that table, because, by Heaven, I shall stop you! But if you are armed, I--I shall have to shoot you, too." "Hang it, Mendez, you're a good fellow! But--I can't help it." "Lay them down, you renegade!" Driscoll removed his sabre and gravely placed it on the table. "The guns are my own," he said. "Dupin had them returned to me. _He_ took them. Suppose _you_ take them, Colonel Mendez!" He was in the doorway, and from there he faced them. The day was hot, and Mendez had taken off his belt with his weapons. But the others were armed. Yet they hesitated. They were brave enough for death, but before the certainty of death for at least one among them and the uncertainty of which one, they paused. Driscoll had not touched the black six-shooters under his ribs. That would have snapped the psychological fetter. As he expected, Mendez sprang first. This put an unarmed man between himself and the others. In the instant he wheeled, was in the saddle, and clattering down the street. Back in the room Mendez saw his blunder and made way. Ney passed him first, reached the door, aimed and fired. But someone behind him touched his arm, and the ball sped high. Ney turned, and saw Tiburcio filling the door against the others, and regarding him with evil challenge in his eye. "Oh, don't think that I hold it against you," Ney cried gratefully. Tiburcio half laughed. "A man who don't want prisoners shot is better with the enemy than dead," he said. Tiburcio's chuckle was prophetic. The enemy invariably executed Exploradores, and would certainly do as much for Don Tiburcio if they caught him. Ney heard the hoof beats, already far away. "May the god of fools look after him too," he murmured heavily. The fugitive swept round the first corner of the street and on through the town. None thought to stop him. Soldiers and townsmen supposed him on the Empire's urgent business, and when they knew better, there was no longer hope for their ponies against the great Missouri buckskin, now a diminishing dusty speck mid cacti and maguey.