“Save your breath, Señor,” sneered Rogero, with a threatening glance, “you may not have much more left of it.”
“The father of these boys,” continued Rogero, “like all other Americanos in this country, has objected to the taxes that our noble president Zelaya, has wisely put on all articles they export or bring in and naturally therefore is in sympathy with any revolutionary movement. I do not know, gentlemen, what your verdict will be; but, for myself, I must vote for their immediate execution as a solemn duty to my country.”
The boys’ cheeks blanched in spite of themselves. This man then actually meant to put them to death.
“Courage, Harry;” whispered Frank, and he added his slogan of “while there’s life there’s hope!”
“There is one alternative,” went on Rogero, “and that is this,—that these young men at once agree to sign a document assigning to the government of Nicaragua all their father’s property and forward it to him for his signature by a messenger I have waiting. If Señor Chester the elder will pay this ransom these foolish boys may go free, otherwise—” he gave an expressive gesture the meaning of which was only too plain to need translating into words.
There was a hurried consultation, of what was called, by a ludicrous travesty, the “court-martial,” and then the members reconvened. One of them arose and, addressing Rogero who had assumed his seat at the head of the long table, said:
“What you have proposed is agreeable to the other members of this court-martial, General.”
“Then your verdict, gentlemen, is?” demanded Rogero.
“Death by shooting,” was the reply that sent an involuntary shudder through the boys.
Rogero smiled his evil smile again—twice as menacing in his triumph. “You, however, agree to offering them my alternative,” asked Rogero anxiously, “La Merced is a rich plantation and so is that of Don Pachecho adjoining it; which I don’t doubt we can easily acquire when we have established headquarters at La Merced.”