e?"

Harrison turned to Pasquale. "Know who he is? Know anything about him,
general?"

"Only what he has told me, senor."

"And that is?"

"That he worked for the moving-picture company at Los Robles, that he is
out of a job, and that he wants to try the revolutionary game, as you
Americans say."

"Don't you believe it. Don't believe a word of it," broke out Harrison
stormily. "He's a spy. That's what he is."

Smiling, Steve cut in. "What have I come to spy about, Harrison?"

"You told Threewit that you thought General Pasquale had those cattle.
You may deny it, but--"

"Why _should_ I deny it?" Yeager turned genially to the insurgent chief.
"_You_ don't deny it, do you, general?"

Pasquale laughed. He liked the cheek of this young man. "I deny nothing
and I admit nothing." He swept his hand around in a gesture of
indifference. "My vaqueros herd cattle I have bought. Possibly rustlers
sold them to me. Maybeso. I ask no questions."

"Nor I," added Yeager promptly. "At least, not many. I eat the beef and
find it good. You ought to have got a good price for a nice fat bunch
like that, Harrison."

"What d'you mean by that?" The man's fists were clenched. The rage was
mounting in him.

"Forget it, Harrison! You've quit the company. You're across the line
and among friends. No use keeping up the bluff. I know who held me up.
If I'm not hos-tile about it, you don't need to be."

The prizefighter flung at him the word of insult that no man in the
fighting West brooks. Before Steve could speak or move, Pasquale
hammered the table with his heavy, hairy fist.

"Maldito!" he roared. "Is it so you talk to my friends in my own house,
Senor Harrison?"

The rustler, furious, turned on him. But even in his rage he knew better
than to let his passion go. The insurgent chief was more dangerous than
dynamite in a fire. Purple with anger, Harrison choked back the volcanic
eruption.

"Friend! I tell you he's a spy, general. This man killed Mendoza. He's
here to sell you out."

The sleek black head of Culvera swung quickly round till his black eyes
met the blue ones of Yeager. He flung his hand straight out toward the
Anglo-Saxon.

"Mil diablos! What a dolt I am. It's the very man, and I've been racking
my brain to think where I met him before."

Yeager laughed hardily. "I've got a better memory, senor. Knew you the
moment I set eyes on you, though it was some smoky when we last met."

Culvera rose, his knuckles pr