"No, not dead--yet," McTurpin answered.
"God in Heaven! Tell me," said the girl, imploringly! "He is wounded? Dying?" McTurpin took a seat beside her on the rustic bench. "Benito isn't dead--nor wounded so far as I know. But," his tone held an ominous meaning, "it might be better if he were."
"I--I do not understand," said Inez, staring.
"Then let me make it clear." McTurpin struck a fist against his palm. "Your brother is American. Very well. And what is an American who takes up arms against his country?"
The girl sprang up. "It is a lie. Benito fights for freedom, justice only--"
"That is not the view of our American Commander," McTurpin rose and faced her. "The law of war is that a man who fights against his country is a traitor." His eyes held hers hypnotically. "When this revolt is over there will be imprisonment or pardon for the Spanish-Californians. But Benito will be hanged."
Inez Windham swayed. One hand grasped at the bench-back for support; the other clutched her bodice near the throat. "Benito," she said almost in a whisper. Then she turned upon McTurpin furiously. "Go," she cried. "I do not believe you. Go!"
But McTurpin did not stir. "It is the law of nations," he declared, "no use denying it, Miss Windham."
"Why did you come to tell me this? To torture me?"
"To save you--and your brother?"