The temples of the cowpuncher throbbed. He pretended to misunderstand the meaning of the other man. "Of course. I understand that you can do nothing else but send her home. The one thing that would bring our army across the line on the jump would be for you to hurt a hair of this girl's head. You could kill a dozen men and get away with it quicker than you could to insult one little girl. But, of course, you know that."
The fingers of Culvera drummed absently on the table. "I think the señorita and I will be able to adjust the matter without any help from you. If you have any last messages for her I'll be glad to carry them, since I expect to see her this evening."
Steve had disdained to beg for himself, but now he begged for the girl he loved.
"You're a man, Ramon Culvera. Nobody ever claimed there is any yellow in you. Your father was a gentleman and so is his son. You fight with men and not with timid girls. You wouldn't do this girl dirt because she is alone and has no friends near. Think of your own sisters, man."
Ochampa moved restlessly in his chair. "We had better send the girl home. She will bring us trouble else."
His superior officer flashed a quick look at him. "That is a bridge we shall cross when we come to it. Meanwhile I say adios, Señor Yeager. Shall I send you the padre?"
"Thanks, no! But remember this. You stake your whole future on the treatment you give Miss Seymour. If you don't play fair with her, you lose."
Ramon clapped his hands three times. A soldier entered the room.
"Take the Gringo back to his prison," ordered Culvera.
"The order stands, general? At sunset?" asked the man.