s. Two men were killed on the border by Conrad under
order of this James. Herrara was murdered in prison for fear he would
turn informer about the guns. Singleton was murdered to prevent him
investigating the German poisoning of cavalry horses. The German swine
meant to control Granados rancho a few months longer for their own
purposes."

"_Meant_ to?" sneered Conrad. "You raw cub!--you are playing with
dynamite and due for a fall. So is your fool country! Though Perez
here has lost his nerve and turned traitor to our deal, that is only a
little puff of wind against the bulwarks of the Fatherland! We will
hold Granados; we will hold the border; and with Mexico (not this
crook of the west, but _real_ Mexico) we will win and hold every
border state and every Pacific coast state! You,--poor fool!--will
never reach Granados alive to tell this. You are but one American in
the Indian wilderness, and you are sure to go under, but you go
knowing that though James and I die, and though a thousand more of us
die, there will be ten thousand secret German workers in America to
carry on our plan until all the world will be under the power of the
Prussian eagle! You,--who think you know so much, can add _that_ to
finish your education in Sonora, and carry it to hell with you!"

His voice, coldly contemptuous at first, had risen to a wrathful
shriek as he faced the American and hurled at him the exultance of the
Teuton dream.

"I certainly am in great luck to be your one American confessor,"
grinned Kit, "but I'll postpone that trip as long as possible. I
reckon General Rotil will let the padre help me make note of this
education you are handing out to me. A lot of Americans need it! Have
I your permission, General?"

"Go as far as you like," snapped Rotil. "They have used up their time
limit in scolding like old women. Perez, I wait for the guns."

"Send me to Hermosillo and I will recover enough for a ransom," said
Perez.

Rotil regarded him a moment through half-closed, sinister eyes.

"That was your last chance, and you threw it away. Chappo, strip him;
Fidelio, fetch the branding irons."

Perez shrank back, staring at Rotil as if fascinated. He was striving
to measure the lengths to which the "Hawk of the Sierras" would go,
and a sudden gleam of hope came into his eyes as Padre Andreas held
up a crucifix before Chappo, waving him aside.

"No, Rotil,--torture is a thing for animals, not men! Hell waits for
the sinner w