"Oh, Paquita, maiden of my soul!" he was wailing. "I am undone—undone! Your love has robbed me of my father, and broken the poor old heart of the mamacita of me!"
Quesada started visibly.
"What is that!" he exclaimed. "You speak of Paquita, daughter of Pepe Flammenca?"
"I speak and dream of her always! I love her—God, yes! And she told me she adored Jacinto Quesada because he was a bandolero; she told me she despised my uniform. I thought to emulate Quesada and thus win her love. But I have only caused the death of my old father and brought sorrow and heartbreak to my poor old mother in her last years. Ah, Senor Don Jesu, pity me!"
But there was that in the glint of the eyes of the clustered policemen which spelled death for Miguel Alvarado. He was a traitor to all the ethics of the Guardia Civil. He had dishonored and defiled the uniform they wore. He was a wolf in sheep's clothing. More; he was a shepherd dog turned poacher, depredator, wolf!
"He must die!" said the captain.
"Seguramente, yes! And we all must bind ourselves to keep the matter secret."
The captain nodded grimly. "This is an affair of honor between us of the Guardia Civil." He turned sharply upon Quesada.
"Hombre, you are the only outsider. Will you swear to tell no one, to lock all you have heard this night in your own breast?"
Quesada evaded taking the oath of secrecy. Why should he, the Wolf of the Sierras, make covenant with the podencos of the Guardia Civil? Besides, a higher emotion stirred him. In his unknowable Spanish soul, he was moved to pity for Miguel Alvarado.