She smiled a little wanly, trying to coax him back into friendliness. “Then if I’m a prince you must be a princess,” she teased.
“I meant a prince of good fellows.”
“Oh!” She could be stiff, too, if it came to that.
And at this inopportune moment the key turned harshly and the door swung open.
CHAPTER XII.
A CLEAN WHITE MAN’S OPTION
The light of a lantern coming down the steps blinded them for a moment. Behind the lantern peered the yellow face of the turnkey. “Ho, there, Americano! They want you up above,” the man said. “The generals, and the colonels, and the captains want a little talk with you before they hang you, señor.”
The two soldiers behind the fellow cackled merrily at his wit, and the encouraged turnkey tried again.
“We shall trouble you but a little time. Only a few questions, señor, an order, and then poco tiempo, after a short walk to the gallows—paradise.”
“What—what do you mean?” gasped the girl whitely.
“Never mind, muchacho. This is no affair of yours. Your turn will come later. Have no fear of that,” nodded the wrinkled old parchment face.