Bare Hands

“The man is a devil. The Wolf will see that he does not die easily. Save him with great care. When he regains consciousness we will show him how we kill men in Mexico. Perhaps we will thrust a pointed stake through his body and leave him sitting, spitted in the sun for the flies and the ants.”

Vincent Shaffer gave a great shudder.

Busy hands knotted ropes about the arms and legs of the unconscious fighter.

“Tie him with double ropes,” instructed Ayala. “He has the strength of an ape in those hairy hands.”

Shaffer rolled over, his gagged mouth sought to formulate words in vain. In his mind there echoed and reechoed the knowledge that doomed them all.

“He understands English. He understands English. He understands English,” ran through his brain in sickening monotony. He tried to banish the thought, tried to keep the words from ringing in his brain, but in vain.

Something thudded against him — the unconscious body of Dan Harder.

Juan Ayala ran deft fingers over his uniform, adjusting it, making sure there was no dust clinging to it. He barked a command to the ragged soldiers who watched the prisoners, and then stepped out into the soft light of the early dusk.

“Señor, I am sorry that your help have left and that there is no food for yourself and the señorita. Huerta Hidalgo Martinez has conveyed his compliments and requests that you and the señorita join him for the evening meal.

“We will probably concentrate our force at the crest of the hill where we can be better guarded against any surprise attack during the night. A tent will be placed for the señor and the señorita. Your safety will be assured by armed sentries who will stand before the door of the tent.

“Your companions have strolled on down the trail. I have ordered horses for you.”

The girl’s eyes danced.

“Armed sentries, a soldier’s camp! Won’t that be fun! Come on, dad. I’m anxious to meet this famous general.”

Standish hesitated. Should he whisper to his daughter that this general was more generally known under the title of the Wolf? Then she would know, be aware of her danger. But would it do any good?

Perhaps, after all, it would be better to let the girl continue to believe she was an honored guest instead of a prisoner. Her attitude of ingenuous innocence was all that could save her now. The time for resistance had passed. But there would be no moon. Perhaps after dark—

He looked around for his two companions.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips when he saw they had vanished. He could understand how they would prefer to “stroll” down to the encampment. In the gathering dusk they would slip off the trail, lie in wait, try to effect some rescue under cover of the darkness.

“We are ready,” said Standish in expressionless tones.

The horses appeared. The girl and her father swung into the saddle. Juan Ayala assisted the girl and then mounted. Two soldiers came in the rear.

“One is never safe in this country without an armed escort,” muttered Ayala, “particularly when one is guarding that which is more precious than gems.”

The girl flashed him a swift smile.

“You are so thoughtful,” she said.

Chapter IV Hopeless Odds

In the ’dobe house a soldier removed the gag from Shaffer’s mouth. He propped the bound man against the wall and glared at him with angered eyes.

“Bah. I am on duty to guard the pigs of gringos!” he muttered. “And there is loot to be had! There is a cache of liquor that our brave comrades have uncovered!”

Shaffer said nothing.

The soldier turned to Harder, tugged at the unconscious shoulders, moved the hulking body up against the wall.

“He is a great beef, this gringo,” he muttered. “He will die by torture, and such as he take a long time in dying.”

He went to a corner of the room, scraped the floor clean and made a small fire from bits of splintered wood. He left the place for a few moments and returned with a pan filled with frijoles. He sat them over the fire to warm.

Dan Harder stirred, opened his eyes, then closed them with an inarticulate moan.

Heat filled the room. The smell of the sputtering frijoles mingled with the unwashed body odors of the guard. From without came the sound of loud laughter, the babble of voices.

The guard removed the pan of frijoles, took some tortillas from a dirty knapsack and made his evening meal. He offered his prisoners neither food nor drink.

Shaffer tried to speak, but words failed to emerge from his dry mouth. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue.

Harder studied him grimly.

“They’ve got the girl?”

Shaffer nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

Harder thought out loud.

“She’s safe until she meets the dictator. Ayala won’t dare to touch her until — until the dictator has found a new attraction. They’ll kill the old man of course.”

Shaffer shuddered again.

From without the talking became louder. The laughter ceased.

“We gotta do something quick or it’ll be too late,” observed Harder. “I guess they don’t kill us until mornin’. Did you hear ’em mention?”