“So!” the words hissed from Lopez’ lips, “you’re a flying reporter.”
There was no use in denying and Tim felt that he might have a better chance if he told the truth. Without hesitation, he told who he was and why he had invaded the stronghold of the rebel chief.
“Well, well, well,” drawled Lopez, “now isn’t that nice of you to come down and see me. I’ll be only too glad to pose for you. Suppose you get your camera out and take some pictures.”
Tim wondered what the rebel’s game was but he obeyed the orders and snapped Lopez in half a dozen different poses. The rebel leader’s vanity irritated him and he would like to have punched his stubby little nose but that would only have spelled more trouble. When Lopez was satisfied that enough pictures had been taken, he turned accusing eyes on Dugan.
“And now Mr. Dugan,” he said in a half whisper, “I thank you for telling me who this man is. He’s not going back to the border and neither are you.”
“What do you mean?” cried the daredevil “That you’re not going back to the border. That’s plain isn’t it. Both of you know too much now. Besides, I never fully trusted you Dugan and this is a good excuse to put you out of the way.”
“You can’t get away with that,” cried Dugan.
“Oh, I can’t? Well, who’s to stop me?” There seemed to be no immediate answer to that question and Tim and Dugan proceeded down the road in the direction of the village, two dirty little soldiers with drawn bayonets at their heels.
When they reached the plaza at Cedros, General Lopez ordered them thrown into the village jail, a filthy one-room structure with high, barred windows.
“You might have given me a break, Dugan,” said Tim when the door had clanged shut on them. “There wasn’t any special reason for your shouting my name all over the countryside, was there?”