Billie led his horse within and looked around. It was a large house and the patio was the most elaborate Billie had ever seen. He had thought that Pedro's home in Mexico City was fine, but this was much finer.
"They must be swells," was the lad's comment. "I reckon they became frightened and have run away with General Maas."
He started to lead the horse to the stable and then stopped.
"I might as well shut this big gate," he thought. "I'll leave the little gate open so the lieutenant can come in."
He pushed the big gate together and dropped the bolt in its place.
"Now to do something for the horse," and he turned to the animal which stood patiently by.
Then he stopped and stood in mute astonishment at what his eyes beheld.
In the center of the patio, with rifle in hand, aimed squarely at his head, stood a figure he had last seen on the banks of the Rio Grande more than a year before—the figure of a man whom he had known only as Santiago.
The recognition was mutual, but instead of the friendliness which had always before marked the attitude of the strange man, there was now upon his face a look of the most bitter hatred.