As Maximilian crossed the pasture, he suddenly had to jump aside with considerable sprightliness. A brace of horsemen came swerving through the gateway from the highroad and tore down upon him as though the Day of Judgment galloped behind. They were abreast, ten feet apart, but the oddest thing was a lariat that dangled between them, from saddle-horn to saddle-horn.

The thunder of hoofs brought Dragoons and Cossacks and Dignitaries, and emptied the granary. Even insane horsemen could see that the Empire was encamped over that cow lot. And as nearer they rushed, the two maniacs seemed to recognize the fact. One was straightway more anxious to arrive; a directly opposite effect was apparent in the other. And there was the rope between them, from saddle-horn to saddle-horn. Their opinions on destination, unexpectedly diverging, promised something. And since one wanted to stop and the other to hasten, the something was not long in happening.

One of the horsemen–he wore a sombrero–leaned back frantically. The other–who wore a battered soldier cap–passed ahead like the wind. The lariat twanged, but held. Sombrero’s horse got its feet planted. The horse of Soldier Cap slowed to a standstill, and panted. Sombrero flung out his pistol, Soldier Cap his. They aimed at each other, the triggers snapped, no report. They looked amazed, embarrassed; 157and tried again. Same result. “Por Dios!” “SacrÉ nom!” They hurled the pistols, each at the other’s head. Both ducked. Sombrero wheeled, drove home the spurs, and headed for retreat. Soldier Cap and horse braced themselves against the shock. The spectators, running nearer, now perceived that the lariat was tied round each man’s waist as well as wrapped over his pommel. Soldier Cap weathered the jolt, next plunged suddenly closer, and in the instant of the slack, unwound the rope from his saddle and leaped to the ground. In two leaps more he had Sombrero about the neck. They fell together, rolling and fighting, while Sombrero’s horse reared and plowed the soil with them. Dragoons and Cossacks heaped themselves on all three. It was quite an energetic mystery altogether.

Under the soldier cap, under dust and blood and scratches, Jacqueline caught glimpses of a happy face.

“Oh lÁ-lÁ, it’s–it’s Michel!”

“Rodrigo GalÁn!” roared the Tiger, in his turn recognizing Sombrero. “Here, up with him! Six of you, quick there, in line, shoot him!”

It was near the sweetest moment of the old warrior’s life.

“One moment, colonel!” someone spoke quietly. “Is it a Huastecan custom, by the way, to shoot a cavalier the instant he–ah–dismounts?”

“But this scoundrel is Rodrigo GalÁn, Your Majesty. And that black horse, sacrÉ tonnerre, that is Maurel’s horse. Captain Maurel, sire, whom he murdered!”

Don Rodrigo straightened pompously. “Your Most Opportune Majesty–” he began.

“Also, Colonel Dupin,” Maximilian continued, “he waylaid the Belgian ambassador, sent by Leopold, brother to Our August Spouse.”

“The more reason to shoot him, pardi!”

“Without doubt, monsieur. But his execution must have 158Éclat. Europe must know that Mexican outlaws do not go unpunished.–Colonel Lopez, you will take charge of Our prisoner. Guard him well, and bring him with you to the City. He shall be tried there, with every ceremony.”

Colonel Dupin, that policeman of the backwoods forced upon Mexico by Napoleon, could only grind his teeth, which he did.

“Now then,” said His Majesty, “let Us see this brigand-catcher who excels the redoubtable Contra Guerrillas.–As I live, the young man is a Chasseur d’Afrique! Step nearer, sir, and tell Us who you are.”

“Michel Ney, at Your Majesty’s service.”

“The Prince of Moskowa!” exclaimed the Emperor. In his court, he was grateful for even a Napoleonic prince.

“Sergeant, Your Majesty.” It looked as though Ney were hinting to be made something else.

“I see,” said Maximilian. “And so Our Empire of romance is to hold a baton for another of the family of Ney. But to start more modestly, how would a lieutenancy suit, do you think?”

“Your pardon, sire, but I report to His Excellency, Marshal Bazaine.”

Maximilian’s white brow clouded. The French occupation was ever a thorn in his side. He could never quite be Emperor in fact. He could not even promote a likely young man. He had to “recommend” to one Bazaine, who had carried a knapsack.

“Quite so,” he answered coldly. “I shall inform Our dear Marshal how well you deserve.”

“The fact is, Your Majesty,” said Ney in some confusion, “I did not–exactly–capture him. It was, uh, sort of mutual.”

Everybody stared curiously. There was the rope, the unloaded pistols. It was a queer puzzle. How did it happen? Ney began with an apology. Would Mademoiselle d’Aumerle 159forgive him? But he had worried though! He should not have left her, day before yesterday!

“Because of a greater attraction?” the young woman suggested.

Ney demurred so earnestly that Jacqueline laughed outright. “Don’t make it worse, Michel,” said she. “I know how you regretted the death of the terrible Rodrigo. Then you learned that he was alive. Oh no, I couldn’t have held you.–But go on. Did he prove interesting?”

The Frenchman told his story. It appeared that, on deserting mademoiselle two days before, he went at the best speed of his horse up the ravine she had so graciously indicated. He hoped to overtake the fugitive bandit, and after an hour, at a turn in the arroyo, did meet him, face to face. Both were equally astounded. Rodrigo was retracing his steps, having been blocked by a dried waterfall. Either man drew and covered the other. The Mexican did not fire. Seeing Ney, he supposed the Contras at no great distance, and a shot would bring them on his heels. But after a time the thing commenced to grow ridiculous, and Ney laughed.

“Monsieur Rodrigue,” he said, “I hope you will come along quietly.”

Fra Diavolo mistook the Gallic humor for an assurance of armed backing near at hand. “Where to?” he asked.

“The devil take me if I know! Where would you suggest?”

It dawned then on the puzzled brigand that the other knew nothing of the country, and accordingly they struck up an armistice; which, for the rest, the alert revolver of each made imperative. Their protocol’s chief clause required the prisoner to conduct his captor to some neutral point. Rodrigo suggested Anastasio MurguÍa’s ranch, and Ney agreed. But as to what might happen on arriving, they left in blank. Michel had a duel in mind, if honest seconds were to be had. The craftier 160Rodrigo hoped to find some of his own men lurking about the hacienda.

A cessation of hostile moves was further stipulated, though treachery of course warranted the instant drawing of weapons. Should the prisoner try to betray the captor to guerrillas, this was to constitute treachery. Ney for his part insisted on his rights as captor. That is, he could call for help if he got the chance. Rodrigo assented willingly. He knew the neighborhood. He would avoid the Cossacks, and the Frenchman might shout to his heart’s ease. To do him justice, the outlaw had no desire to kill Ney, even if Ney gave him leave. A duke and prince in one was too valuable. A pretty ransom loomed brightly. Ney suspected as much, but not being ingenuous enough to obviate the risks, took a huge delight in them.

Conforming to the terms of the truce, each man, simultaneously, put his gun in his holster. Then, good company enough one for the other, though with eyes ever on the watch, they proceeded along tortuous bridle paths until twilight, meeting no one. They camped in the same forest which that same moment held MurguÍa, Driscoll, and the two girls. They tethered their horses together and made a bed of leaves for themselves. Each laid his pistol a comfortable distance away, so that if either tried to arm himself while the other slept, there would be much snapping of twigs under his feet. Again simultaneously, they sat down and talked, and smoked cigarettes in lieu of supper. Ney progressed in his Spanish that evening. Fra Diavolo wished to impress on the companionable Frenchman that he, Rodrigo GalÁn, was a more terrible person than Colonel Dupin. He seemed envious, even of the compliment implied in the Tiger’s nickname.

During a pause the brigand said, “Now don’t jump, caballero, because I’m only getting out my flask.”

“The beautiful idea!” returned Ney. “I’ll do the same.”

161But each stopped with the liquor at his mouth. It was consolation for lack of food, but if one refrained and the other partook–well, there would be a light sleeper and a heavy sleeper. With the tempting fumes in their nostrils, they waited, each for the other, to quaff first. And neither did. Finally Rodrigo proposed that they equalize the perils of indulgence. Accordingly each lowered the contents of his flask by three swallows, after which they compared the extent of the ebb tide in either bottle.

“But, voyons,” Ney objected, “you haven’t taken as much as I have!”

Rodrigo admitted the impeachment, and amiably took another draught. But the swallow proved too large, and Ney in his turn tried to balance that one, only to fail likewise. This entailed another effort from Rodrigo, which resulted in still another exaggeration.

“Now you’ve had more than I have,” Michel complained, growing vague on the real point at issue.

“Bien, seÑor, suppose you try a little of this. It’s catalan, genuine, too, smuggled at Tampico.”

“Mine’s cognac,” said Ney. “Have some?”

They exchanged flasks, and that night in the forest their snores were discordant and loud. Ney half awoke once, and remembered that he seemed to have heard the tramp of many horses. Toward morning, when it was not yet light, he was aroused for good by a savage tightening around his waist and a tremendous pull. He sat up, and heard his prisoner scuffling and swearing near him.

“You’ve tied me, you sneaking animal without shame!”

“It’s you that’s tied me, tÊte de voleur!”

But as Rodrigo wrested in the dark, Ney found that the brigand’s stumblings corresponded with the tightening about himself. He clutched at his waist, and discovered a rope.

Both men groped vengefully forward with the line, and 162lurched into one another’s arms. Each had thought to come on a tree, only to discover himself tied to the other. In the first start of suspicion, and in no good humor from splitting headaches, one reached for his knife, the other for his sabre. But the knife was gone, the sabre was gone. Forthwith they grappled and strained and breathed by jerks and tumbled and rolled and wound themselves in the lariat, until at last they lay exhausted on their backs and blinked up at the beautiful innocent morn peeping through the trees.

“Now don’t you untie yourself till I get untied,” ordered Ney.

“Or you yourself,” retorted the other.

“Let us both untie at the same time.”

“But one might finish first,” objected Rodrigo. The brigand had grown amiable again. He saw advantages in the rope. It was well to have his prospective ransom never more than a few feet away.

They discussed the problem at length, but were not equal to it. So the modus vivendi was stretched a rope’s length, and the treachery clause expanded to include any untying or attempted untying before their arrival at MurguÍa’s. Scrupulously simultaneous, they arose, found their pistols, and mounted their horses. To guard against any sudden varying in rapidity of travel and its consequences, each wrapped the lariat once about his saddle-horn. Where necessary, the brigand rode in front, since Ney insisted that the other way would reverse their rÔles of prisoner and captor. Rodrigo got some tortillas from a charcoal burner, and they lunched and rested within the forest’s edge till dark. But they traveled all that night in the open country, and approached MurguÍa’s before noon of the next day. Hoping to find friends about the hacienda’s stables, Rodrigo suggested that they race up the highway into the pasture. He was thinking that then the Frenchmen might be overpowered the more easily. Ney fell into the trap. He 163accepted the challenge and was keen for the sport. Thus it happened that they all but ran down the Emperor of Mexico himself, and instead of guerrillas, Rodrigo saw Cossacks and Dragoons. But the mystery of the rope, added to that of the unloaded pistols, rested unexplained.

Jacqueline was delighted. “If it were just conventional heroism,” she exclaimed, “one might talk of lieutenancies. But sire, this––”

“Never fear,” replied Maximilian. “I cannot make him captain, but he shall have his reward.–Monsieur le Prince, I will leave you a half company of my Austrians, if, though a Chasseur, you will deign to command them. In a word, I desire you to have the honor of escorting mademoiselle to the City.”

“And I thank you, sire. Parbleu, the sergeant is happier with such an order than–than the captain without it.”

“Michel,” cried Jacqueline, “and where in the world now did you get that?”

“Why–out of my own head. Really, mademoiselle.”