My
promptness I leave you to admire."
"Oh, you're prompt enough, lieutenant. I noticed that when you
handed over your gun to me so lamblike." He laughed it out
flippantly, buoyantly, though it was on his mind to wonder
whether the choleric little officer might not kill him out of
hand for it.
But Chaves merely folded his arms and looked sternly at the
American with a manner very theatrical. "Miguel, disarm the
prisoner," he ordered.
"So I'm a prisoner," mused Bucky aloud. "And whyfor, lieutenant?"
"Stirring up insurrection against the government. The prisoner
will not talk," decreed his captor, a frowning gaze attempting to
quell him.
But here the popinjay officer reckoned without his host, for that
gentleman had the most indomitable eyes in Arizona. It was not
necessary for him to stiffen his will to meet the other's attack.
His manner was still lazy, his gaze almost insolent in its
indolence, but somewhere in the blue eyes was that which told
Chaves he was his master. The Mexican might impotently rebel--and
did; he might feed his vanity with the swiftness of his revenge,
but in his heart he knew that the moment was not his, after all,
or that it was his at least with no pleasure unalloyed.
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