In the guardroom, fifty feet away from Henry’s cell, the gendarmes were robbing Leopoldo Narvaez. Pedro Zurita made a survey of the large box.

      “Leave it alone, Pedro,” one of the gendarmes laughed at him.

      The assistant jailer sighed, walked away and sat down, looked back at the box, and sighed again.

      “Take the hatchet there and open the box,” he said. “Open the box, Ignacio[48], we will look, we will only look. Then we will close the box again.”

      “Whiskey! The old man was a fool,” laughed gendarmes. “That whiskey was his, all his, and he has never taken one little sip!”

      In few minutes everybody was drunk. Pedro Zurita became sentimental.

      “My prisoners,” he maundered. “I love them as brothers. Life is sad. My prisoners are my children. Behold! I weep. Let us share with them. Ignacio, carry a bottle of this elixir to the Gringo Morgan. He will drink and be happy today.”

      Henry was crossing his big cell to the window when the heard a key in the door. Ignacio came in, completely drunk, bottle in hand, which he gravely presented to Henry.

      “With the high compliments of our good jailer, Pedro Zurita,” he mumbled. “He says to drink and forget that he must hang you tomorrow.”

      “Tell Senor Pedro Zurita to go to hell along with his whiskey,” Henry replied.

      The gendarme suddenly become sober.

      “Very well, senor,” he said, and locked the door.

      In a rush Henry was at the window just in time to encounter Francis face to face. Francis was thrusting a revolver to him through the bars.

      “Henry,” Francis said. “Stand back in your cell, because there will be a hole in this wall. The Angelique is waiting for you. Now, stand back.”

      Henry backed into a rear corner of his cell, and the door was clumsily unlocked and opened.

      “Kill the Gringo!” cried the gendarmes.

      Ignacio fired wildly from his gun. The next moment he went down under the Henry’s bullet. Henry waited for the explosion.

      It came. The window and the wall beneath it became all one aperture. Francis dragged him out through the hole.

      “The horses are waiting,” Francis told Henry. “And Leoncia is waiting with them. In fifteen minutes we’re on the beach, where the boat is waiting.”

      “Funny thing that whiskey. An old man broke a wagon right in front of the jail,” Henry said.

      “A noble Narvaez, eh, senor?” Francis asked.

      “It was you!”

      Francis smiled.

      Chapter VI

      Jefe Politico of San Antonio, leaned back in his chair with a smile. The old judge gave judgment according to program. And the Jefe was two hundred dollars richer. His smile was even broader as he greeted Alvarez Torres.

      “Listen,” said Torres. “We can kill both Morgans: Henry tomorrow, Francis today.”

      The Jefe remained silent.

      “I have advised him to storm the jail. The Solanos are with him. They will surely attempt to do it this evening. They could not do it sooner. Francis Morgan will be killed in the fight.”

      “Why must we kill Francis?” the Jefe asked. “Henry must be hanged. But let Francis go back to New York.”

      “Francis must be kept away from New York for a month or forever. I understood Senor Regan quite well. Money matters, you know.”

      “But you have not told me how much you have received, nor how much you will receive,” the Jefe said.

      “It is a private agreement. This Senor Regan is a hard man, a very hard man. But I will divide fairly with you.”

      The Jefe nodded, then said:

      “A thousand?”

      “I think so. And five hundred is yours if Francis leaves his bones in San Antonio.”

      “It must be more than a thousand,” the Jefe persisted.

      “Senor Regan may be generous,” Torres responded. “He may even give me five hundred more, half of which will be yours.”

      “I shall go immediately to the jail,” the Jefe announced. “You may trust me, Senor Torres, as I trust you. Come. We will go at once, now, you and I, and you may see the preparation I shall make for this Francis Morgan’s reception. So this Gringo will storm our jail, eh? Come.”

      He stood up. But a boy appeared:

      “I have information. You will pay me for it, Senor? I have run all the way.”

      “I’ll sent you to the jail!” was the reply.

      The boy cried:

      “You will remember I brought you the information, Senor. I ran all the way!”

      “What is your information, you fool?”

      “The jail,” the boy said. “The strange Gringo has blown down the side of the jail. The hole is very big! And the other Gringo, the one who looks like him, has escaped with him out of the hole. This I saw, myself, with my two eyes! And then I ran here to you all the way, and you will remember… “

      “I don’t believe you. It is not possible.”

      The gendarme came through the door.

      “The jail is destroyed,” were his first words. “Dynamite! A hundred pounds of it! A thousand! We came bravely to save the jail. But it exploded the thousand pounds of dynamite. I fell unconscious. When sense came back to me, I looked about. All others, the brave Pedro, the brave Ignacio, the brave Augustino[49] all, all were dead. The cell of Morgan was empty. There was a huge and monstrous hole in the wall. I crawled through the hole into the street. There was a great crowd. But the Gringo Morgan was gone. They rode toward the beach. They have a schooner. Francis Morgan rides with a sack of gold on his saddle. It is a large sack.”

      “And