Riego blinked his eyes. Somebody was lying stretched out on a cot, and somebody was fanning him—the Beautiful One and his brother! Riego crept toward her suddenly outstretched hands.
Then he leaned over Pascual. But Pascual's eyes were closed and on his face was a yellow pallor.
"The surgeon has taken out the ball," whispered the Beautiful One. "He will live, with good nursing, and I am on the job." She paused a moment, then asked, as she looked into his face with concern: "Aren't you happy, you tragic little soldier? Why don't you smile at the good news?"
"How—" began the child—and a strange, sick feeling swept over him—"how long before he will be well enough to be stood against a wall—and——"
"Why, you poor child!"—and the big tears sprang to the señorita's eyes—"your brother will not be stood against a wall and shot for treason—never—never! And he's not going to be shut up in prison, either!"
"Riego Yañez," he said. "I am proud to shake hands with an American hero!"
"But why, señorita? Why? The big captain knows that he was with Alva's men."
"He is young—just a boy," and the señorita laid a tender hand upon the head of the wounded lad. "He is the son of good parents and brother to—— Oh, you tragic little soldier, can't you guess who it is has saved your brother?"