The prisoner was drinking a cup of coffee the doctor had brought him when the sound of horses' hoofs came to him through the open window.
The voice of Pasquale rang out, and at the sound of it Steve's heart grew chill. For there was in the timbre of it a brutal, jovial triumph.
"Take these horses, boys,—feed them, water them. Let the girl go to her room, Ramon, but see that she is watched every minute. Garcia, attend to the Gringos."
He strode into the room where Yeager was detained. His greedy little eyes sparkled; his face exuded malice and self-conceit.
"Ho, ho, amigo! Who laughs now?" he jeered. "I found your friends—stumbled on them in a pocket of the hills while we were returning. They had lost their way, of course, since Señor Yeager was unfortunately not able to go along. So I brought them home to breakfast. Was I not kind?"
He threw back his head and laughed. Steve said nothing. His heart was sick. He had thrown the dice for his great chance and lost.
"First, to breakfast," repeated the Mexican. "And afterward—the young lady shall have love. Por Dios, you shall be at the wedding," decided Pasquale on malicious impulse, hammering on the table with his great fist.
"If I had only had the sense to pull the trigger last night when I had you at my mercy," Yeager commented aloud.
"Yes, you and all her friends—you shall all be there to wish her joy—even Holcomb, who wearies me with his protests. Maldito! Is Gabriel Pasquale not good enough for a kitchen wench from Arizona?"
"It's an outrage beyond belief."