Becodar sat perfectly still for a moment, and then said in a low voice: “I will tell you. I will make the story short. Gentle God, what a thing it was! I was for Gonzales then—a loyal gentleman, he called me—I, a gentleman! But that was his way. I was more of a spy for him. Well, I found out that a revolution was to happen, so I gave the word to Gonzales, and with the soldiers came to Puebla. The leaders were captured in a house, brought out, and without trial were set against a wall. I can remember it so well—so well! The light was streaming from an open door upon the wall. They were brought out, taken across the road and stood against a wall. I was standing a distance away, for at the moment I was sorry, though, to be sure, senor, it was for the cause of the country then, I thought. As I stood there looking, the light that streamed from the doorway fell straight upon a man standing against that wall. It was my brother—Alphonso, my brother. I shrieked and ran forward, but the rifles spat out at the moment, and the five men fell. Alphonso—ah, I thank the Virgin every day! he did not know. His zarape hangs there on the wall, his sombrero, his sword, and his stirrups.”
Sherry shifted nervously in his seat. “There’s stuff for you, amigo,” he said to me. “Makes you chilly, doesn’t it? Shot his own brother—amounts to same thing, doesn’t it? All right, Becodar, we’re both sorry, and will pray for his departed spirit; go ahead, Becodar.”
The beggar kept pulling at a piece of black ribbon which was tied to the arm of the chair in which he now sat. “Senors, after that I became a revolutionist—that was the only way to make it up to my brother, except by masses—I gave candles for every day in the year. One day they were all in my house here, sitting just where you sit in those chairs. Our leader was Castodilian, the bandit with the long yellow hair. We had a keg of powder which we were going to distribute. All at once Gonzales’s soldiers burst in. There was a fight, we were overpowered, and Castodilian dropped his cigar—he had kept it in his mouth all the time—in the powder-keg. It killed most of us. I lost my eyes. Gonzales forgave me, if I would promise to be a revolutionist no more. What was there to do? I took the solemn oath at the grave of my mother; and so—and so, senors.”
Sherry had listened with a quizzical intentness, now and again cocking his head at some dramatic bit, and when Becodar paused he suddenly leaned over and thrust a dollar into the ever-waiting hand. Becodar gave a great sign of pleasure, and fumbled again with the money in his pocket. Then, after a moment, it shifted to the bit of ribbon that hung from the chair: “See, senors,” he said. “I tied this ribbon to the chair all those years ago.”
My eyes were on the peg and the holes in the wall. Sherry questioned him. “Why do you spike the wall with the little red peg, Becodar?”
“The Little Red Peg, senor? Ah! It is not wonderful you notice that. There are eight bullet-holes in that zarape”—he pointed to the wall—“there are eight holes in the wall for the Little Red Peg. Well, of the eight men who fired on my brother, two are left, as you may see. The others are all gone, this way or that.” Sherry shrugged a shoulder. “There are two left, eh, Becodar? How will they die, and when?” Becodar was motionless as a stone for a moment. Then he said softly: “I do not know quite how or when. But one drinks much mescal, and the other has a taste for quarrel. He will get in trouble with the Rurales, and then good-bye to him! Four others on furlough got in trouble with the Rurales, and that was the end. They were taken at different times for some fault—by Gerado’s company—Gerado, my cousin. Camping at night, they tried to escape. There is the Law of Fire, senors, as you know. If a man thinks his guard sleeps, and makes a run for it, they do not chase—they fire; and if he escapes unhurt, good; he is not troubled. But the Rurales are fine shots!”
“You mean,” said Sherry, “that the Rurales—your Gerado, for one—pretended to sleep—to be careless. The fellows made a rush for it and were dropped? Eh, Becodar, of the Little Red Peg?”
Becodar shrugged a shoulder gently. “Ah, senor, who can tell? My Gerado is a sure shot.”
“Egad,” said Sherry, “who’d have thought it? It looks like a sweet little vendetta, doesn’t it? A blind beggar, too, with his Gerado to help the thing along.
“‘With his Gerado!’ Sounds like a Gatling, or a bomb, or a diabolical machine, doesn’t it? And yet they talk of this country being Americanised! You can’t Americanise a country with a real history. Well, Becodar, that’s four. What of the other two that left for Kingdom Come?”