A doubt, however, crossed the sergeant's mind. “But, my general,” he expostulated, “Senor Sarros cannot accept the ley fuga. He is very lame. That is not giving him the chance your Excellency desires he should have.”
“I wasn't thinking of that,” Ricardo replied. “I was thinking I'm killing him without a fair trial for the reason that he's so infernally ripe for the gallows that a trial would have been a joke. Nevertheless, I am really killing him because he killed my father—and that is scarcely fair. My father was a gentleman. Sergeant, is your pistol loaded?”
“Yes, General.”
“Give it to Senor Sarros.”
As the sergeant started forward to comply Ricardo drew his own service revolver and then motioned Mother Jenks and the firing-squad to stand aside while he crossed to the centre of the cemetery. “Sarros,” he called, “I am going to let God decide which one of us shall live. When the sergeant gives the command to fire, I shall open fire on you, and you are free to do the same to me. Sergeant, if he kills me and escapes unhurt, my orders are to escort him to the bay in my carriage and put him safely aboard the steamer.”
Mother Jenks sat down on a tombstone. “Gord's truth!” she gasped, “but there's a rare plucked 'un.” Aloud she croaked: “Don't be a bally ass, sir.”
“Silence!” he commanded.
The sergeant handed Sarros the revolver. “You heard what I said?” Ricardo called.
Sarros bowed gravely.
“You understand your orders, Sergeant?”