"Will they give us breakfast?" asked the Texan.
The other laughed bitterly. "We'll have beans," he said shortly, "but we won't eat them."
Not long afterward the iron door opened, and two soldiers entered, carrying a red earthenware olla. "Fifteen men," said one of them in Spanish, "counting the new one."
"Fifteen men," chanted the other in singsong voice. "Fifteen beans."
Kid Wolf's brows began to knit. At first he had thought that the beans meant breakfast. Now he saw that something sinister was intended. Some sort of lottery was about to be played with beans.
"There are fourteen white beans," the young American whispered, "and one black one. We all draw. The man who gets the black bean dies this morning."
The hair prickled on the Texan's head. Every morning these unfortunates were compelled to play a grim game with death.
The prisoners were all quaking with terror, as they came up to the ugly red jug to take their chance for life. As much as these miserable men suffered in this terrible place, existence was still dear to them.
One soldier shook the beans in the olla; the other stood back against the wall with leveled gun to prevent any outbreak. Then the lottery began.
Kid Wolf viewed the situation calmly, and decided that to try to wrest the weapon from the soldier would be folly. Other soldiers were watching through the grated door.