"We love him
so: my mother, who is ill, and I," she pleaded. "He is all we have....
Ah, senor, you will spare him--our Benito!"
"Get up," said Hull a trifle brusquely. His tone, too, shook a little.
"Confound it, girl, I'm not a murderer." He forced a smile. "If my men
haven't shot the young scoundrel you may have him back."
"And that," he added, as the girl rose with a shining rapture in her
eyes, "may be tomorrow." He picked up a paper from the desk and regarded
it thoughtfully. "There is truce at present. Sanchez will surrender if I
give my word that there shall be no further raids."
"And--you will do this, Commandante?" the girl asked, breathlessly.
"I--will consult with Brannan, Leidesdorff and Spear, as you suggested,"
Hull replied. But his eyes were kind. The Senorita Inez had her answer.
Impetuously, her arms went around his neck. An instant later, dazed, a
little red, a moist spot on his cheek and a lingering fragrance clinging
subtly like the touch of vanished arms, Hull watched her flying heels
upon the muddy square.
"Well, I'll be damned!" he said, explosively.
* * * * *
In the room which had been Inez' whilom prison--and which proved to be
the only one available in the City Hotel, Adrian Stanley lay tossing and
muttering.
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