faint with fear. I was frightened out of my wits. But he—no! Que guape! Where's the hero who got the best of him? ha! ha! ha! What killed him, chico?'
"'His own strength, General,' I answered.
"But Gaspar Ruiz breathed yet. I had him carried in his poncho under the shelter of some bushes on the very ridge from which he had been gazing so fixedly at the fort while unseen death was hovering already over his head.
"Our troops had bivouacked round the fort. Towards daybreak I was not surprised to hear that I was designated to command the escort of a prisoner who was to be sent down at once to Santiago. Of course the prisoner was Gaspar Ruiz' wife.
"'I have named you out of regard for your feelings,' General Robles remarked. 'Though the woman really ought to be shot for all the harm she has done to the Republic.'
"And as I made a movement of shocked protest, he continued:
"'Now he is as well as dead, she is of no importance. Nobody will know what to do with her. However, the Government wants her.' He shrugged his shoulders. 'I suppose he must have buried large quantities of his loot in places that she alone knows of.'
"At dawn I saw her coming up the ridge, guarded by two soldiers, and carrying her child on her arm.
"I walked to meet her.
"'Is he living yet?' she asked, confronting me with that white, impassive face he used to look at in an adoring way.
"I bent my head, and led her round a clump of
