" sneered Harrison with a savage
lift of the lip. "You want to play it safe all the time. Why don't you
take a chance?"

"I play my own cards, senor," returned Ramon equably.

"You play 'em darned close to your stomach. Me, I go out on a limb oncet
in a while."

"Be sure you don't stay out there--at the end of a rope," smiled the
Mexican.

"They haven't grown the hemp yet that will hang Chad Harrison." The
prizefighter leaned toward him, eyes shining. "If I pull it off and make
my getaway--what then? Will you send the girl to me, wherever I am?"

"You mean, if you--"

"--Give Pasquale what's been coming to him for a long time."

The eyes of Culvera were slits of light. His face was a brown mask that
covered an alert and wary attention.

"I didn't hear what you said, amigo. It is better that I shouldn't. But
if I had charge of the army instead of General Pasquale my policy would
be different. I would return this Arizona girl to her home."

"To her home!" broke in Harrison harshly.

"To her husband," amended the Mexican significantly, adding after an
instant--"who is a good friend of mine."

"You'll stand pat on that, will you?"

"It would be my purpose to reward my friends--those who have helped the
cause--if by any chance command of the Legion should fall to me."

Harrison glared at him suspiciously. "You're so smooth I don't know
whether I can believe you or not. You'd sell your own father out for the
right price."

"I pay my debts, senor--both kinds," suggested the Mexican, unmoved at
this outburst.

"See that you do."

"Be sure I shall, amigo," returned Culvera, looking straight at him from
narrowed eyes that told nothing.

The prizefighter took another turn up and down the room. He was anxious
and harassed as well as driven hard by hatred and jealousy.

"The wolf is having me watched. His orders are that I'm not to be
allowed to leave camp. I don't get any chance to see him alone. If you
ask me, I think he's fixing to have me knifed in the dark," Harrison
burst out.

"Shouldn't wonder," agreed the young officer with a pleasant smile. He
lived in an atmosphere where such things were not uncommon, and on
occasion could take a hand himself.

"Fat lot you care," complained the photoplay actor sullenly. "You
wouldn't lift a hand to save your pardner."

Culvera patted him on the shoulder cheerfully. "What can I do? Do I not
live under the shadow myself? Can I tell when the knife will fall on me