"'Adios, my dear good friend. I fear I have seen the last of you.'
"Then what? Señora, you would never guess." The speaker shook his head. "Longorio took two dynamite grenades, and, laughing like a boy, he ran forward before any one knew what he was about. It is nothing but the truth, señora, and he a general! This capitan loved him dearly, and so his bones turned to rope when the windows of that accursed house began to vomit fire and the dust began to fly. They say that the dead men in the street rose to their knees and crossed themselves—I only repeat what I was told by those who looked on. Anyhow, I have seen things quite as remarkable.
"Never was such courage, señora! God must have been moved to astonishment and admiration, for He diverted those bullets, every one. When our general came to the house he lit the fuses from his cigarette, then he cried, 'Viva Potosi!' and hurled one bomb to the roof; the other he flung through a window into the very faces of his enemies. Those Rebels were packed in there like goats in a corral, and they say such a screaming you never heard. Doubtless many of them died from sheer terror the rest were blown through each other." The lieutenant breathed an admiring oath. "Truly, it must have been a superb spectacle."
"General Longorio must be very brave indeed," Alaire agreed.
"But wait! That is not all. After we had taken the town and destroyed what Rebel officers we found—"
"You mean—your prisoners?"
"Si. But there were only a few, and doubtless some of them would have died from their wounds. Well then, after that General Longorio called his old friend—that capitan—out before his troops and with his own hand he shot him. Then every fifth man among those who had refused to charge he ordered executed. It effected much good, I assure you."
For a moment Alaire and her companion rode in silence, but the teniente was not content with this praise of his leader.
"And yet General Longorio has another side to his character," he continued. "He can be as mild as the shyest señorita, and he possesses the most beautiful sentiments. Women are mad over him. But he is hard to please—strangely so. Truly, the lady who captivates his fancy may count herself fortunate." The old soldier turned in his saddle and, with a grace surprising in one of his rough appearance, removed his hat and swept Alaire a bow the unmistakable meaning of which caused her to start and to stammer something unintelligible.
Alaire was angry at the fellow's presumption, and vexed with herself for showing that she understood his insinuation. She spurred her horse into a gallop, leaving him to follow as he could.