“What? Oh come, mi capitan, find a better one!”
“It’s not a joke, sir. Profiting by a commission that does not bind me, I am here to tell you good-bye.”
“Jean, mon ami!” Ney cried in protest.
Don Tiburcio waited with keen appreciation, as he always did when the unexpectedness of this Gringo was unfolding. The others stared agape at the man between them and the door. Mendez saw too that he was in earnest, and he began to argue, almost to entreat. The Mexican leader had lost the quality of mercy in civil wars that had touched him cruelly, that had exacted many near to him, but there was sincerity in the man, and men were won by the stirring sound of his voice.
“You would retire now,” he exclaimed, “now, when every soul here may look for promotion, and none of them more than you, Señor Dreescol?”
But he did not stop there. He conjured up a tempting vista of long and honored life under an empire that was now supreme. Even the scum of rebellion yet left on the calm surface was that day swept away, and naught remained but to enjoy the favors of his grateful Majesty.
“Which only makes it,” said Driscoll, “a good time to quit. 290I should mention, too, that I intend to join the Republic, that is,” he added, “if there’s any of the Republic left.”
Don Tiburcio was not disappointed.
Mendez sprang to his feet and his voice was stentorian, as when he rallied his men by the magnet of fury and hatred.
“It’s desertion!” he roared.