eager.

"Know any military tactics?" he asked.

"None--except to hit the other fellow first and hit him hardest."

"And to hit him when he isn't looking. Those three things are all there
is to know about war--those three, and to keep your men fat." Pasquale's
momentary grin faded. "I'll give you a try-out for a week. If we like
each other we'll talk turkey about a commission. Eh, senor?"

"Go you one. If we ain't suited we part company at the end of a week."

The noted insurgent leader spoke English as well as he did Spanish.
Sometimes he talked in one language, sometimes in the other. Now he
relapsed into Spanish and asked Yeager to join them at breakfast.

The cowpuncher sat down promptly. It had been three hours since he had
eaten lightly and he was as hungry as a Yukon husky. He observed that
Culvera's table manners were nice and particular, whereas those of his
chief, though they ate off silver taken from the home of a Federal
supporter during a raid, were uncouth in the extreme. He wolfed his
food, throwing it into his mouth from knife or fork as rapidly as he
could.

Glancing up from his steak, Steve observed the brooding eye of Culvera
upon him. Faint suspicions, recollections too vague as yet for
definiteness, were beginning to stir in the mind of the man. He had
taken on the look of wariness, masked by a surface smile, that his face
had worn the night of the shooting.

Yeager's talk flowed on, easy, careless, unperturbed. His stories were
amusing Pasquale, and the old ruffian had a fondness for anybody that
could entertain him. But back of his debonair gayety Steve nursed a
growing unease. He was no longer dressed in the outfit of a cowpuncher,
but wore a gray street suit and a Panama straw hat. Culvera had caught
only a momentary glance at him the night they had faced each other
revolver in hand. Yet the American was morally convinced that given time
recognition would flash upon the young Mexican. Some gesture or
expression would betray him. Then the fat would be in the fire. And
Steve--where would he be?

After breakfast Yeager rode out with Pasquale to review the troops. It
was an entirely informal proceeding. The youthful army was happily
engaged in loafing and in play. A bugle blew. There was an instant
scurry for horses. They swung into line, stood at attention, and at a
second blast charged yelling across the plain, serapes flying wild.

Pasquale turned to Yeager with a gesture of his hand. "