“But—but he hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“Ho, ho! Let him explain that to the generals and the colonels,” croaked the old fellow. “And that you may explain the sooner, señor, hurry—let your feet fly!”
Bucky walked across to the girl he loved and took her hands in his.
“If I don’t come back before three hours read the letter that I wrote you yesterday, dear. I have left matches on that bench so that you may have a light. Be brave, pardner. Don’t lose your nerve, whatever you do. We’ll both get out of this all right yet.”
He spoke in a low voice, so that the guards might not hear, and it was in kind that she answered.
“I’m afraid, Bucky; afraid away down deep. You don’t half believe yourself what you say. I can’t stand it to be here alone and not know what’s going on. They might be—be doing what that man said, and I not know anything about it till afterward.” She broke down and began to sob. “Oh, I know I’m a dreadful little coward, but I can’t be like you—and you heard what he said.”
“Sho! What he says is nothing. I’m an American citizen, and I reckon that will carry us through all right. Uncle Sam has awful long arms, and these greasers know it. I’m expecting to come back here again, little pardner. But if I don’t make it, I want you, just as soon as they turn you loose, to go straight to your father’s ranch.”
“Come! This won’t do. Look alive, señor,” the turnkey ordered, and to emphasize his words reached a hand forward to pluck away the sobbing lad. Bucky caught his wrist and tightened on it like a vise. “Hands off, here!” he commanded quietly.
The man gave a howl of pain and nursed his hand gingerly after it was released.
“Oh, Bucky, make him let me go, too,” the girl wailed, clinging to his coat.